UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


DUKESBOROUGH    TALES 


BY 


RICHARD   MALCOLM   JOHNSTON 

AUTHOR  OF 
WIDOW  GUTHRIE,   THE   PRIMES  AND  THEIR  NEIGHBORS,    ETC. 


NEW    YORK 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 
1892 


COPYRIGHT,  1892, 
BY  D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


PRINTED  AT  THE 
APPLETON  PRESS,  U.  S.  A. 


en 
ro 

CT) 


TO   MEMORIES   OF   THE    OLD   TIMES: 

THE   GRIM   AND   RUDE 

BUT   HEARTY   OLD  TIMES 

IN   GEORGIA. 


323466 


PREFACE. 

BY  friends  and  many  acquaintances  the  author  has  been 
often  advised  to  re-publish  Dukestorottgk  Tales  in  a  form 
more  convenient  than  that  in  which  it  was  first  issued. 
Acting  upon  this  counsel,  he  has  carefully  revised  and 
now  submits  six  stories  selected  from  the  original  sixteen. 
These  relate  mainly  to  incidents  in  the  career  of  Mr.  Bill 
Williams  and  his  nearest  associates. 

The  writer  first  employed  the  nom  de  plume  of  Philemon 
Perch,  who  was  supposed  to  be  a  witness  of  many  of  the 
scenes  and  in  some  a  participant.  His  original  preface 
and  dedication  are  presented  in  this  volume. 

In  Dukesborough  the  author  has  preserved  his  memoirs 
of  Powelton,  a  small  village  in  Hancock  County,  Georgia, 
near  which  is  his  birthplace. 

R.  M.  J. 

BALTIMORE,  May  5,  1892. 


PREFACE    TO    ORIGINAL    EDITION. 


THESE  sketches,  which  I  have  ventured  to  call  TALES — 
drawn  partly  from  memories  of  incidents  of  old  times,  but 
mostly  from  imagination — were  written  for  the  sake  of  my 
own  entertainment,  in  the  evenings  when  I  had  nothing 
else  to  do.  And  now  I  am  going  to  let  them  be  published 
in  a  little  book,  having  been  persuaded,  perhaps  too  easily, 
that  they  may  amuse  others,  enough,  at  least,  to  have  me 
excused  both  for  the  writing  and  the  publishing.  I  know 
very  well  that  such  words  as  these,  which  are  meant  for  a 
Preface,  may  be  regarded  rather  as  an  apology.  Let  it  be 
so ;  and  if  it  be  thought  not  sufficient  even  as  such,  it  is  as 
much,  I  insist,  as  ought  to  be  expected  from  a  man  of  my 
age.  P.  P. 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

THE  GOOSEPOND  SCHOOL ,  i 

How  MR.  BILL  WILLIAMS  TOOK  THE  RESPONSIBILITY 47 

INVESTIGATIONS  CONCERNING  MR.  JONAS  LIVELY 75 

OLD  FRIENDS  AND  NEW 142 

THE  EXPENSIVE  TREAT  OF  COLONEL  MOSES  GRICE 245 

KING  WILLIAM  AND  His  ARMIES 265 


"  You  call  this  education,  do  you  not? 
Why,  'tis  the  forc'd  march  of  a  herd  of  bullocks 
Before  a  shouting  drover." 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE  incidents  which  I  propose  to  relate  in  these  sketches, 
and  those  which  may  follow  hereafter,  occurred,  for  the 
greatest  part,  either  at  or  in  the  neighborhood  of  Dukes- 
borough,  once  a  small  village  in  middle  Georgia.  For 
many  years  it  has  been  enduring  patiently  the  decay  inev 
itable  to  things  of  no  more  stable  foundation.  It  had  not 
been  laid  off  in  its  beginning  according  to  any  definite 
plan.  It  seemed  indeed  to  have  become  a  village  quite 
unexpectedly  to  itself  and  to  everybody  else,  notwithstand 
ing  that,  instead  of  being  in  a  hurry,  it  took  its  own  time 
for  it,  and  that  amounted  to  some  years.  The  Dukes  first 
established  a  blacksmith  shop.  This  enterprise  succeeded 
beyond  all  expectation.  A  small  store  was  ventured.  It 
prospered.  After  some  years  other  persons  moved  in,  and, 
buying  a  little  ground,  built  on  both  sides  of  the  road  (a 
winding  road  it  was),  until  there  were  several  families,  a 
school,  and  a  church.  Then  the  Dukes  grew  ambitious 
and  had  the  place  called  Dukesborough.  It  grew  on  little 
by  little  until  this  family  had  all  gone,  some  to  the  coun- 


2  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

ties  farther  west,  and  some  to  the  grave.  Somehow  it 
could  not  stand  all  this.  Decline  set  in  very  soon,  and 
now  its  looks  are  sad,  even  forlorn. 

It  would  be  useless  to  speculate  upon  the  causes  of  its 
fall.  The  places  of  human  habitation  are  like  those  who 
inhabit  them.  Some  persons  die  in  infancy,  some  in  child 
hood,  some  in  youth,  some  at  middle-age,  some  at  three 
score  and  ten,  and  some  linger  yet  longer.  But  the  last, 
in  their  own  times,  die  as  surely.  Methuselah,  compara 
tively  speaking,  was  what  might  be  called  a  very  old  man ; 
but  then  he  died.  The  account  in  Genesis  of  those  first 
generations  of  men  is,  after  all,  a  melancholy  one  to  me. 
The  three  last  words  closing  the  short  history  of  every  one 
are  very  sad — "  And  he  died." 

So  it  is  with  the  places  wherein  mortals  dwell.  Some  of 
them  become  villages,  some  towns,  and  some  cities ;  but 
all — villages,  towns,  and  cities — have  their  times  to  fall, 
just  as  infants,  youths,  men,  and  old  men  have  their  times 
to  die.  People  may  say  what  they  please  about  the  situa 
tion  not  being  well  chosen,  and  about  the  disagreeableness 
of  having  the  names  of  their  residences  all  absorbed  by 
the  Dukes,  whom  few  persons  used  to  like.  All  this  might 
be  very  true.  But  my  position  about  Dukesborough  is, 
that  it  had  lived  out  its  life.  It  had  run  its  race,  like  all 
other  things,  places,  and  persons  that  have  lived  out  their 
lives  and  run  their  races ;  and  when  that  was  done,  Dukes- 
borough  had  to  fall.  It  had  not  lived  very  long,  and  it 
had  run  but  slowly,  if,  indeed,  it  can  be  said  to  have  run 
at  all.  But  it  reached  its  journey's  end.  When  it  did,  it 
had  to  fall,  and  it  fell.  So  Babylon,  so  Nineveh.  These 
proud  cities,  it  is  highly  probable,  had  no  more  idea  of 
their  own  ruin  than  Dukesborough  had  immediately  after  its 
first  store  was  built.  But  we  know  their  history,  and  it 
ought  to  be  a  warning. 


THE  GOOSEPOND  SCHOOL.  3 

Ah  well!  It  is  not  often,  of  late  years,  that  I  pass  the 
place  where  it  used  to  stand.  But  whenever  I  do,  I  feel 
somewhat  as  I  feel  when  I  go  near  the  neglected  grave  of 
an  old  acquaintance.  In  the  latter  case,  I  say  to  myself 
sometimes,  And  here  is  the  last  of  him.  He  was  once  a 
stout,  hearty,  good-humored  fellow.  It  is  sad  to  think  of 
him  as  having  dropped  everything,  and  being  covered  up 
here  where  the  earth  above  him  is  now  like  the  rest  all 
around  the  spot,  and  the  grave,  but  for  my  recollection  of 
the  place  where  it  was  dug,  would  be  indistinguishable 
even  to  me  who  saw  him  when  he  was  put  here.  But  so  it 
was.  It  could  not  be  helped,  and  here  he  is  for  good.  So  of 
Dukesborough.  When  I  pass  along  the  road  on  the  sides 
of  which  it  is  left  now,  I  can  but  linger  a  little  and  muse 
upon  its  destiny.  Here  was  once  a  smart  village ;  no  great 
things,  of  course,  but  still  a  right  lively  little  village.  It 
might  have  stood  longer 'and  the  rest  of  the  world  have 
suffered  little  or  no  harm.  But  it  is  no  use  to  think  about 
it,  because  the  thing  is  over  and  Dukesborough  is — what  it 
is.  Besides  myself,  there  may  be  two  or  three  persons  yet 
living  who  can  tell  with  some  approximation  to  accuracy 
what  it  used  to  be.  When  we  are  dead,  whoever  may 
wish  to  gather  any  very  interesting  relic  of  Dukesborough 
must  do  as  they  do  upon  the  supposed  sites  of  the  cities  of 
more  ancient  times — they  must  dig  for  it. 

These  reflections,  somewhat  grave,  I  admit,  may  seem 
to  be  unfitly  preliminary  to  the  narratives  which  are  to  fol 
low  them.  But  I  trust  they  will  be  pardoned  in  an  old 
man  who  could  not  forbear  to  make  them  when  calling  to 
mind  the  forsaken  places  of  his  boyhood,  albeit  the  scenes 
which  he  describes  have  less  of  the  serious  in  them  than 
of  the  sportive.  If  I  can  smile,  and  sometimes  I  do  smile, 
at  the  recital  of  some  things  that  were  done,  and  words 
that  were  said,  by  some  of  my  earliest  contemporaries,  yet 


4  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

I  must  be  allowed  a  sigh  also  when  I  remember  that  the 
doings  and  the  sayings  of  nearly  all  of  them  are  ended  for 
this  world. 


CHAPTER   II. 

"  BOOKS  ! "  There  is  nothing  terrible  in  this  simple 
word.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  a  most  harmless  word.  It 
suggests  quiet  and  contemplation ;  and  though  it  be  true 
that  books  do  often  produce  agitations  in  the  minds  of 
men  and  in  the  state  of  society,  sometimes  even  effecting 
great  revolutions  therein,  yet  the  simple  enunciation  of  the 
word,  even  in  an  elevated  tone,  would  never  be  adequate, 
it  would  seem,  to  the  production  of  any  considerable  ex 
citement.  As  little  would  it  seem,  in  looking  upon  it  from 
any  point  of  view  in  which  one  could  place  one's  self,  to 
be  capable  of  allaying  excitement,  however  considerable. 
I  never  could  tell  exactly  why  it  was  that,  as  often  as  I 
have  read  of  the  custom  in  England  of  reading  the  Riot 
Act  upon  occasions  of  popular  tumult,  and  begun  to  muse 
upon  the  strangeness  of  such  a  proceeding,  and  its  appar 
ent  inadequacy  for  the  purposes  on  hand,  my  mind  has 
recurred  to  the  incidents  about  to  be  narrated.  For  there 
was  one  point  of  view,  or  rather  a  point  of  hearing,  from 
which  one  could  observe  this  quieting  result  by  the  utter 
ance  of  the  first  word  in  this  chapter  twice  a  day  for  five 
days  in  the  week.  It  was  the  word  of  command  with 
which  Mr.  Israel  Meadows  was  wont  to  announce  to  the 
pupils  of  the  Goosepond  schoolhouse  the  opening,  morning 
and  afternoon. 

The  Goosepond  was  situated  a  few  miles  from  Dukes- 
borough,  on  the  edge  of  an  old  field,  with  original  oak  and 
hickory  woods  on  three  sides,  and  on  the  other  a  dense 


THE  GOOSEPOND   SCHOOL.  5 

pine  thicket.  Through  this  thicket  ran  a  path  which  led 
from  a  neighboring  planter's  residence  where  Mr.  Meadows 
boarded.  The  schoolhouse,  a  rude  hut  built  of  logs,  was 
about  one  hundred  and  twenty  yards  from  this  thicket,  at 
the  point  where  the  path  emerged  from  it. 

One  cold,  frosty  morning,  near  the  close  of  November, 
about  twenty-five  boys  and  girls  were  assembled  as  usual 
waiting  for  the  master.  Some  were  studying  their  lessons, 
and  some  were  playing;  the  boys  at  ball,  the  girls  at 
jumping  the  rope.  But  all  of  them  (with  one  exception), 
those  studying  and  those  playing,  were  watching  the  mouth 
of  the  path  at  which  the  master  was  expected.  Those 
studying  showed  great  anxiety.  The  players  seemed  to 
think  the  game  worth  the  candle ;  though  the  rope-jumpers 
jumped  with  their  faces  toward  the  thicket ;  and  whenever 
a  boy  threw  his  ball,  he  first  gave  a  look  in  the  same  direc 
tion.  The  students  walked  to  and  fro  in  front  of  the  door, 
all  studying  aloud,  bobbing  up  and  down,  exhibiting  the 
intensest  anxiety  to  transfer  into  their  heads  the  secrets  of 
knowledge  that  were  in  the  books.  There  was  one  boy  in 
particular,  whose  eagerness  for  the  acquisition  of  learning 
seemed  to  amount  to  violent  passion.  He  was  a  raw- 
boned  lad  of  about  fifteen  years,  with  very  light  coarse 
hair  and  a  freckled  face,  sufficiently  tall  for  his  years.  His 
figure  was  a  little  bent  from  being  used  to  hard  work.  He 
had  beautiful  eyes,  very  blue,  and  habitually  sad.  He 
wore  a  roundabout  and  trousers  of  home-made  walnut- 
dyed  stuff  of  wool  and  cotton,  a  sealskin  cap,  and  red 
brogan-shoes  without  socks.  He  had  come  up  the  last. 
This  was  not  unusual ;  for  he  resided  three  miles  and  a 
half  from  the  schoolhouse,  and  walked  the  way  forth  and 
back  every  day.  He  came  up  shivering  and  studying, 
performing  both  of  these  apparently  inconsistent  operations 
with  great  violence. 


6  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

"  Hello,  Brinkly  ! "  shouted  half  a  dozen  boys,  "  got  in 
in  time  this  morning,  eh?  Good.  You  are  safe  for  to-day 
on  that  score,  old  fellow." 

"  Why,  Brinkly,  my  boy,  you  are  entire/^  too  soon.  He 
won't  be  here  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  yit.  Come  and 
help  us  out  with  the  bull-pen.  Now  only  jes'  look  at  him. 
Got  that  eternal  jography,  and  actilly  studyin'  when  he  is 
nigh  and  in  and  about  friz.  Put  the  book  down,  Brinkly 
Glisson,  and  go  and  warm  yourself  a  bit,  and  come  and 
take  Bill  Jones's  place.  It's  his  day  to  make  the  fire. 
Come  along,  we've  got  the  ins." 

These  words  were  addressed  to  him  by  the  "  one  excep 
tion  "  before  alluded  to,  a  large,  well-grown,  square-shoul 
dered  boy,  eighteen  years  old,  named  Allen  Thigpen. 
Allen  was  universally  envied  in  the  school,  partly  because 
he  was  too  big  to  be  afraid  of  any  schoolmaster.  But  it 
was  the  boast  of  Allen  Thigpen  that  he  had  yet  to  see  the 
man  that  he  was  afraid  of. 

Brinkly  paid  no  attention  to  Allen's  invitation,  but  came 
on  up  shivering  and  studying,  studying  and  shivering.  Just 
as  he  passed  Allen,  he  was  mumbling,  "A-an  em-em-pire 
is  a  co-untry  go-overned  by  a-an  em-per-or." 

Now,  ordinarily  the  announcement  of  this  proposition 
would  be  incapable  of  exciting  any  uncommon  amount  of 
risibility.  It  contains  a  simple  truth  expressed  in  simple 
language.  Yet  so  it  was  that  Allen  laughed,  and,  as  if  he 
understood  that  the  proposition  had  been  submitted  to  him 
for  ratification  or  denial,  answered : 

"Well,  Brinkly,  supposin'  it  is.  "Who  in  the  dickence 
said  it  weren't?  Did  you,  Sam?  " 

"Did  I  do  what?"  answered  Sam  Pate,  in  the  act  of 
throwing  the  ball. 

"  Did  you  say  that  a  empire  weren't — what  Brinkly  said 
it  was?  "  » 


THE   GOOSEPOND   SCHOOL.  7 

"  I  didn't  hear  what  Brinkly  said  it  was,  and  I  don't 
know  nothin'  about  it,  and  I  hain't  said  nothin'  about  it, 
and  I  don't  keer  nothin'  about  it."  And  away  went  the 
ball.  But  Sam  had  thrown  too  suddenly  after  looking  to 
ward  the  mouth  of  Mr.  Meadows'  path,  and  he  missed  his 
man. 

Brinkly  scarcely  noticed  the  interruption,  but  walked  to 
and  fro  and  studied  and  shivered.  He  bowed  to  the  book, 
he  dug  into  it.  He  grated  his  teeth,  not  in  anger,  but  in 
his  fierce  desire  to  get  what  was  in  it.  He  tried  to  fasten 
it  in  his  brain  whether  or  not  by  slightly  changing  the  hard 
words,  and  making  them,  as  it  were,  his  own  to  command. 

"An  yem-pire,"  said  he,  fiercely,  but  not  over-loudly, 
"is  a.ke-untry  ge-uvernd  by  a  ye-emperor." 

"And  what  is  a  ye-emperor,  Brinkly?  "  asked  Allen. 

"Oh,  Allen,  Allen,  please  go  away  from  me!  I  almost 
had  it  when  you  bothered  me.  You  know  Mr.  Meadows 
will  beat  me  if  I  don't  get  it,  because  you  know  he  loves  to 
beat  me.  Do  let  me  alone.  It  is  just  beginning  to  come 
to  me  now."  And  he  went  on  shivering  and  studying,  and 
shivering  and  announcing,  among  other  things,  that  "  an 
yempire  was  a  ke-untry  ge-uverned  by  an  ye-emperor," 
emphasizing  every  one  of  the  polysyllables  in  its  turn ; 
sometimes  stating  the  proposition  very  cautiously,  and 
rather  interrogatively,  as  if  half  inclined  to  doubt  it ;  at 
others  asserting  it  with  a  vehemence  which  showed  that  if 
was  at  last  his  settled  conviction  that  it  was  true,  and  that 
he  ought  to  be  satisfied  and  even  thankful. 

"  Poor  fellow,"  muttered  Allen,  stopping  from  his  ball- 
play,  and  looking  toward  Brinkly  as  the  latter  moved  on. 
"  That  boy  don't  know  hisself ;  and,  what's  more,  Israel 
Meadows  don't."  Allen  then  walked  to  where  a  rosy- 
cheeked  little  fellow  of  eight  or  nine  years  was  sitting  on  a 
stump  with  a  spelling-book  in  his  lap  and^  a  pin  in  his  right 


8  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

hand  with  which  he  dotted  every  fourth  word,  after  reciting 
the  following: 

"Betsy  Wiggins;  Heneritter  Bangs;  Mandy  Grizzle; 
Mine!"  (Dot.) — "Betsy  Wiggins;  Heneritter  Bangs; 
Mandy  Grizzle ;  Mine!  "(Dot.) 

"  I-yi,  my  little  Mr.  Asa,"  said  Allen ;  "  and  supposin' 
that  Betsy  Wiggins  misses  her  word,  or  Heneritter  Bangs 
hern,  or  Mandy  Grizzle  hern,  then  who's  goin'  to  spell  t/iem, 
I  want  to  know?  And  what'll  you  give  me?  "  continued 
Allen,  placing  his  rough  hand  with  ironical  fondness  upon 
the  child's  head — "what'll  you  give  me  not  to  tell  Mr. 
Meadows  that  you've  been  gitting  your  own  words?  " 

"Oh,  Allen,  please,  please  don't!" 

"  What'll  you  give  me,  I  tell  you?  " 

"Twenty  chestnuts! "  and  the  little  fellow  dived  into  his 
pockets  and  counted  twenty  into  Allen's  hand. 

"Got  any  more?"  Allen  asked,  cracking  one  with  his 
teeth. 

"  Oh,  Allen,  will  you  take  all?     Please  don't  take  all! " 

"  Out  with  'em,  you  little  word-gitter.  Out  with  the 
last  one  of  'em.  A  boy  that  gits  his  own  words  in  that 
kind  o'  style  ain't  liable,  and  oughtn't  to  be  liable,  to  eat 
chestnuts." 

Asa  disgorged  to  the  last.  Allen  ate  one  or  two,  look 
ing  quizzically  into  his  face,  and  then  handed  the  rest  back 
to  him. 

"  Take  your  chestnuts,  Asa  Boatright,  and  eat  'em — that 
is,  if  you've  got  the  stomach  to  eat  'em.  If  I  ever  live  to 
git  to  be  as  afeard  of  a  human  as  you  and  Abel  Kitchens 
and  Brinkly  Glisson  are  afeard  of  Iserl  Meadows,  drot  my 
hide  if  I  don't  believe  I  would  commit  sooicide  on  myself 
— yes,  on  myself  by  cuttin'  my  own  throat ! " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Asa  Boatright,  "  you  can  talk  so  because 
you  are  a  big  boy,  and  you  know  he  is  afraid  of  you.  If 


THE   GOOSEPOND   SCHOOL.  9 

you  was  as  little  as  me,  you  would  be  as  afraid  as  me.  If 
ever  I  get  a  man — "  The  little  fellow,  however,  checked 
himself,  took  his  pin  again,  and  mumbling,  "  Betsy  Wig 
gins;  Heneritter  Bangs ;  Mandy  Grizzle ;  MINE!"  resumed 
his  interesting  and  ingenious  occupation  of  dotting  every 
fourth  word. 

Brinkly  had  overheard  Allen's  taunt.  Closing  his  book 
after  a  moment's  pause,  he  walked  straight  to  him  and 
said: 

"  Allen  Thigpen,  I  am  no  more  afraid  of  him  than  you 
are ;  nor  than  I  am  of  you.  Do  you  think  that's  what 
makes  me  stand  what  I  do?  If  you  do,  you  are  much 
mistaken.  I'm  trying  all  the  time  to  keep  down  on  mother's 
account.  I've  told  her  of  some  of  his  treatment,  but  not 
all ;  and  she  gets  to  crying,  and  says  this  is  my  only  chance 
for  an  ejication,  and  it  does  seem  like  it  would  break  her 
heart  if  I  was  to  lose  it,  that  I  have  been  trying  to  get  the 
lessons,  and  to  keep  from  fighting  him  when  he  beats  me. 
And  I  believe  I  would  get  'em  if  I  had  a  chance.  But  the 
fact  is,  I  can't  read  well  enough  to  study  the  jography,  and 
my  'pinion  is  he  put  me  in  it  too  soon  just  to  get  the  extra 
price  for  jography.  And  I  can't  get  it,  and  I  haven't 
learned  anything  since  I  have  been  put  in  it ;  and  I  am 
not  going  to  stand  it  much  longer ;  and,  Allen  Thigpen, 
I'm  not  going  to  pay  you  chestnuts  nor  nothing  else  not  to 
tell  him  I  said  so  neither." 

"  Hooraw !  "  shouted  Allen.  "  Give  me  your  hand, 
Brinkly."  Then,  continuing  in  a  lower  tone,  he  said,  "  By 
jingo!  I  thought  it  was  in  you.  I  seen  you  many  a  time, 
when,  says  I  to  myself,  it  wouldn't  take  much  to  make 
Brinkly  Glisson  fight  you,  old  fellow,  or  leastways  try  it. 
You've  stood  enough  already,  Brinkly  Glisson,  and  too 
much,  too.  My  blood  has  biled  many  a  time  when  he's 
been  a-beatin'  you.  I  tell  you,  don't  you  stand  it  no 


I0  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

longer.  Ef  he  beats  you  again,  pitch  into  him.  Try  to 
ride  him  from  the  ingoin'.  He  can  maul  you,  I  expect, 
but — look  at  this,"  and  Allen  raised  his  fist,  about  the  size 
of  a  mallet. 

Brinkly  looked  at  the  big  fist  and  brawny  arm,  and 
smiled  dismally. 

"  BOOKS  ! "  shouted  a  shrill  voice,  and  Mr.  Israel 
Meadows  emerged  from  the  thicket  with  a  handful  of 
hickory  switches.  In  an  instant  there  was  a  rushing  of 
boys  and  girls  into  the  house — all  except  Allen,  who  took 
his  time.  Asa  Boatright  was  the  last  of  the  others  to  get 
in.  He  had  changed  his  position  from  the  stump,  and  was 
walking,  book  in  hand,  apparently  all  absorbed  in  its  con 
tents,  though  his  eye  was  on  the  schoolmaster,  whose 
notice  he  was  endeavoring  to  attract.  He  bowed  and 
digged  and  dived,  until,  just  as  the  master  drew  near,  he 
weariedly  looked  up,  and,  seeing  him  unexpectedly,  gave 
one  more  profound  dive  into  the  book  and  darted  into  the 
house. 

It  was  a  rule  at  the  Goosepond  that  the  scholars  should 
all  be  at  their  seats  when  Mr.  Meadows  arrived.  His 
wont  was  to  shout  "Books  "  from  the  mouth  of  the  path, 
then  to  walk  with  great  rapidity  to  the  house.  Woe  to  the 
boy  or  girl  who  was  ever  too  late,  unless  it  happened  to  be 
Allen  Thigpen.  He  had  been  heard  to  say : 

"  Ding  any  sich  rule,  and  I  ain't  goin'  to  break  my  neck 
for  Iserl  Meadows  nor  nobody  else."  If  he  got  in  behind 
the  master,  which  often  happened,  that  gentleman  was  kind 
enough  not  to  notice  it — an  illustration  of  an  exception  to 
the  good  discipline  of  country  schoolmasters  common  in 
the  times  in  which  Mr.  Meadows  lived  and  flourished. 
On  this  occasion,  when  Mr.  Meadows  saw  Allen,  calculating 
that  the  gait  at  which  he  himself  was  walking  would  take 
him  into  the  house  first,  he  halted  a  little,  stooped,  and, 


THE   GOOSEPOND   SCHOOL.  Ix 

having  untied  one  of  his  shoe-strings,  tied  it  again.  While 
this  operation  was  going  on,  Allen  went  in.  Mr.  Meadows, 
rising  immediately,  struck  into  a  brisk  walk,  almost  a  run, 
as  if  to  apologize  for  his  delay,  and  then  entered  upon  the 
scene  of  his  daily  triumphs. 

But,  before  we  begin  the  day's  work,  let  us  inquire  who 
this  person  was,  and  whence  he  came. 


CHAPTER   III. 

MR.  ISRAEL  MEADOWS  was  a  man  thirty-five  or  forty 
years  of  age,  five  feet  ten  inches  in  height,  with  a  lean 
figure,  dark  complexion,  very  black  and  shaggy  hair  and 
eyebrows,  and  a  grim  expression  of  countenance.  The 
occupation  of  training  the  youthful  mind  and  leading  it  to 
the  fountains  of  wisdom,  as  delightful  and  interesting  as  it 
is,  was  not,  in  fact,  Mr.  Meadows'  choice,  when,  on  arriving 
at  manhood's  estate,  he  looked  around  him  for  a  career  in 
which  he  might  the  most  surely  develop  and  advance  his 
being  in  this  life.  Indeed,  those  who  had  been  the  wit 
nesses  of  his  youth  and  young  manhood,  and  of  the  oppor 
tunities  which  he  had  been  favored  withal  for  getting  instruc 
tion  for  himself,  were  no  little  surprised  when  they  heard 
that  in  the  county  of  Hancock  their  old  acquaintance 
was  in  the  actual  prosecution  of  the  profession  of  school 
master.  About  a  couple  of  days'  journey  from  the  Goose- 
pond  was  the  spot  which  had  the  honor  of  giving  him  birth. 
In  a  cottage  on  one  of  the  roads  leading  to  the  city 
of  Augusta  there  had  lived  a  couple  who  cultivated  a 
farm,  and  traded  with  the  wagoners  of  those  days  by  bar 
tering,  for  money  and  groceries,  corn,  fodder,  potatoes, 
and  such-like  commodities.  It  was  a  matter  never  fully 


12  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

accountable  how  it  was  that  Mr.  Timothy  Meadows,  during 
all  seasons,  had  corn  to  sell.  Drought  or  drench  affected 
his  crib  alike.  When  a  wagoner  wished  to  buy  corn, 
Timothy  Meadows  generally  had  a  little  to  spare.  People 
used  to  intimate  sometimes  that  it  was  curious  that  some 
folks  could  always  have  corn  to  sell,  while  other  folks 
could  not.  Such  observations  were  made  in  reference  to 
no  individual  in  particular ;  but  were  generally  made  by 
one  farmer  to  another,  when,  perchance,  they  had  just 
ridden  by  Mr.  Meadows'  house  while  a  wagoner's  team  was 
feeding  at  his  camp.  To  this  respectable  couple  there  had 
been  born  only  one  offspring,  a  daughter.  Miss  Clary 
Meadows  had  lived  to  the  age  of  twenty-four,  and  had 
never,  within  the  knowledge  of  any  of  the  neighbors,  had 
the  first  beau.  If  to  the  fact  that  her  father's  always 
having  corn  to  sell,  without  his  neighbors  knowing  exactly 
how  he  came  by  it,  had  to  a  considerable  extent  dis 
couraged  visiting  between  their  families  and  his,  be  added 
the  further  one,  that  Miss  Clary  was  bony,  and  in  no  respect 
possessed  of  charms  likely  to  captivate  a  young  gentleman 
who  had  thoughts  upon  marriage,  it  ought  not  to  be  very 
surprising  that  she  had,  thus  far,  failed  to  secure  a  husband. 
Nevertheless,  Miss  Meadows  was  eminently  affable  when 
in  the  society  of  such  gentlemen  of  the  wagoners  as 
paid  her  the  compliment  to  call  upon  her  in  the  house. 
So  that  no  person,  however  suspicious,  would  have  con 
cluded  from  her  manner  on  such  occasions  that  her  pro 
longed  state  of  single  blessedness  was  owing  to  any  prejudice 
against  the  opposite  sex. 

Time,  however,  brings  roses,  as  the  German  proverb 
has  it,  and  to  the  Meadows  family  he  at  last  brought  a 
rosebud  in  .the  shape  of  a  thriving  grandson.  As  it  does 
not  become  us  to  pry  into  delicate  family  matters,  we  will 
not  presume  to  lift  the  veil  which  the  persons  most  concerned 


THE   GOOSEPOND   SCHOOL.  I3 

chose  to  throw  over  the  earlier  part  of  this  grandson's  his 
tory  ;  suffice  it  to  say  that  the  same  mystery  hung  about 
it  as  about  the  inexplicable  inexhaustibility  of  Timothy 
Meadows'  corn-crib,  and  that  the  latter — from  motives, 
doubtless,  which  did  him  honor — bestowed  upon  the  new 
comer  his  own  family  name,  preceded  by  the  patriarchal 
appellation  of  Israel. 

There  were  many  interesting  occurrences  in  the  early 
life  of  Israel  which  it  would  be  foreign  to  the  purposes  of 
this  history  to  relate.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  he  grew 
up  under  the  eye  and  training  of  his  grandfather,  and  soon 
showed  that  some  of  the  traits  of  that  gentleman's  character 
were  in  no  danger  of  being  lost  to  society  by  a  failure  of 
reproduction. 

In  process  of  time,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Meadows  ,were 
gathered  to  their  fathers,  and  Miss  Clary  had  become  the 
proprietress  of  the  cottage  and  the  farm.  Israel  inherited 
the  luck  of  the  Meadowses  to  be  always  able  to  sell  corn  to 
the  wagoners,  and  for  many  years  had  enjoyed  it  without 
serious  molestation.  But,  unluckily,  the  secret  of  this  un 
usual  prosperity,  which  lay  hidden  in  such  profundity 
during  the  lifetime  of  his  grandfather,  transpired  about  six 
months  back. 

One  Saturday  night,  a  company  of  the  neighbors  on 
patrol  found  a  negro  man  issuing  from  the  gate  of  Miss 
Meadows'  yard  with  an  empty  meal-bag.  Having  appre 
hended  him,  he  confessed  that  he  had  just  carried  the  bag 
full  of  corn  to  Israel  from  his  master's  corn-crib.  The 
company  immediately  aroused  the  latter  gentleman,  in 
formed  him  what  the  negro  had  told,  and,  although  he 
did  most  stoutly  deny  any  and  all  manner  of  connection 
with  the  matter,  they  informed  him  that  they  should  not 
leave  the  premises  until  they  could  get  a  search-warrant 
from  a  neighboring  magistrate,  by  which  they  could  iden- 


I4  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

tify  the  corn.  This  was  a  ruse  to  bring  him  to  terms.  See 
ing  his  uneasiness,  they  pushed  on,  and  in  a  careless  man 
ner  proposed  that  if  he  would  leave  the  neighborhood  by 
the  next  Monday  morning  they  would  forbear  to  prosecute 
him  for  this  as  well  as  many  similar  offenses,  his  guilt  of 
which,  they  intimated,  they  had  abundant  proof  to  establish. 
He  was  caught.  He  reflected  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then,  still  asserting  his  innocence,  but  declaring  that  he 
did  not  wish  to  reside  in  a  community  where  he  was  sus 
pected  of  crime,  he  expressed  his  resolution  to  comply  with 
their  demand.  He  left  the  next  day.  Leaving  his  mother, 
he  set  out  to  try  his  fortune  elsewhere,  intending,  by  the 
time  that  the  homestead  could  be  disposed  of,  to  remove 
with  her  to  the  west.  But,  determining  not  to  be  idle  in 
the  meantime,  after  wandering  about  for  several  days  in 
search  of  employment,  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  one 
night,  after  a  day's  travel,  that  he  would  endeavor  to  get  a 
school  for  the  remainder  of  the  year. 

Now,  his  education  had  been  somewhat  neglected.  In 
deed,  he  had  never  been  to  school  a  day  in  his  whole  life. 
At  home,  under  the  tuition  of  his  mother,  he  had  been 
taught  reading  and  writing,  and  his  grandfather  had  im 
parted  to  him  some  knowledge  of  arithmetic. 

But  Mr.  Israel  Meadows,  although  not  a  man  of  great 
learning,  was  a  great  way  removed  from  being  a  fool.  He 
had  a  considerable  amount  of  the  wisdom  of  this  world 
which  comes  to  a  man  from  other  sources  besides  books. 
He  was  like  many  other  men  in  one  respect.  He  was  not 
to  be  restrained  from  taking  office  by  the  consciousness 
of  attainments  inadequate  to  the  discharge  of  its  duties. 
This  is  a  species  of  delicacy  which,  of  all  others,  is  at 
tended  by  fewest  practical  results.  Generally,  the  most  it 
does  is  to  make  its  owner  confess  with  modesty  his  unfit- 
ness  for  the  office,  with  a  "he  had  hoped  some  worthier 


THE   GOOSEPOND   SCHOOL.  !5 

and  better  man  had  been  chosen,"  and  then — take  it. 
Israel  wisely  reflected  that  with  a  majority  of  mankind  the 
only  thing  necessary  to  establish  for  one's  self  a  reputation 
of  fitness  for  office  is  to  run  for  it  and  get  into  it.  A  wise 
reflection  indeed ;  acting  on  which,  many  men  have  seemed 
to  become  great  in  Georgia,  and,  I  doubt  not,  elsewhere, 
with  no  other  capital  than  the  adroitness  or  the  accident 
which  placed  them  in  office.  He  reflected  further,  and  as 
wisely  as  before,  that  the  office  of  a  schoolmaster  in  a 
country  school  was  as  little  likely  as  any  he  could  think  of 
to  furnish  an  exception  to  the  general  rule.  Thus,  in  less 
than  six  weeks  from  the  eventful  Saturday  night,  with  a 
list  of  school  articles  which  he  had  picked  up  in  his  travels, 
he  had  applied  for  and  had  obtained  and  had  opened  the 
Goosepond  school,  and  was  professing  to  teach  the  chil 
dren  spelling,  reading,  and  writing  at  the  rate  of  a  dollar 
a  month,  and  arithmetic  and  geography  at  the  advanced 
rate  of  a  dollar  and  a  half. 

Such  were  some  of  Mr.  Meadows'  antecedents. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

IT  was  the  custom  of  the  pupils  in  the  Goosepond,  as 
in  most  of  the  other  country  schools  of  those  times,  to 
study  aloud.  Whether  the  teachers  thought  that  the  mind 
could  not  act  unless  the  tongue  was  going,  or  that  the 
tongue  going  was  the  only  evidence  that  the  mind  was  act 
ing,  it  never  did  appear.  Such  had  been  the  custom,  and 
Mr.  Meadows  did  not  aspire  to  be  an  innovator.  It  was 
his  rule,  however,  that  there  should  be  perfect  silence  on 
his  arrival,  in  order  to  give  him  an  opportunity  of  saying 
or  doing  anything  he  might  wish.  This  morning  there  did 


!6  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

not  seem  to  be  anything  heavy  on  his  mind  which  required 
to  be  lifted  off.  He,  however,  looked  at  Brinkly  Glisson 
with  an  expression  of  some  disappointment.  He  had 
beaten  him  the  morning  before  for  not  having  gotten  there 
in  time,  though  the  boy's  excuse  was  that  he  had  gone  a 
mile  out  of  his  way  on  an  errand  for  his  mother.  He 
looked  at  him  as  if  he  had  expected  to  have  had  some 
business  with  him,  which  now  unexpectedly  had  to  be  post 
poned.  He  then  looked  around  over  the  school,  and  said : 

"  Go  to  studyin'." 

He  had  been  in  the  habit  of  speaking  but  to  command, 
and  of  commanding  but  to  be  obeyed.  Instantaneously 
was  heard,  then  and  there,  that  unintelligible  tumult,  the 
almost  invariable  incident  of  the  country  schools  of  that 
generation.  There  were  spellers  and  readers,  geographers 
and  arithmeticians,  all  engaged  in  their  several  pursuits, 
in  the  most  inexplicable  confusion.  Sometimes  the  spellers 
would  have  the  heels  of  the  others,  and  sometimes  the 
readers.  The  geographers  were  always  third,  and  the 
arithmeticians  always  behind.  It  was  very  plain  to  be  seen 
that  these  last  never  would  catch  the  others.  The  faster 
they  added  or  subtracted,  the  oftener  they  had  to  rub  out 
and  commence  anew.  It  was  always  but  a  short  time  be 
fore  they  found  this  to  be  the  case,  and  so  they  generally 
concluded  to  adopt  the  maxim  of  the  philosopher,  of  being 
slow  in  making  haste.  The  geographers  were  a  little  faster 
and  a  little  louder.  But  the  spellers  and  readers  had  it,  I 
tell  you.  Each  speller  and  each  reader  went  through  the 
whole  gamut  of  sounds,  from  low  up  to  high,  and  from 
high  down  to  low  again ;  sometimes  by  regular  ascension 
and  descension,  one  note  at  a  time,  sounding  what  mu 
sicians  call  the  diatonic  intervals ;  at  other  times,  going  up 
and  coming  down  upon  the  perfect  fifths  only.  It  was 
refreshing  to  see  the  passionate  eagerness  which  these 


THE   GOOSEPOND   SCHOOL.  I? 

urchins  manifested  for  the  acquisition  of  knowledge!  To 
have  heard  them  for  the  first  time,  one  might  possibly  have 
been  reminded  of  the  Apostles'  preaching  at  Pentecost, 
when  were  spoken  the  languages  of  the  Parthians  and 
Medes,  Elamites  and  the  dwellers  in  Mesopotamia,  and  in 
Judea  and  Cappadocia ;  in  Pontus  and  Asia,  Phrygia  and 
Pamphylia;  in  Egypt  and  in  the  parts  of  Syria  about 
Cyrene;  and  strangers  of  Rome,  Jews  and  Proselytes, 
Cretes  and  Arabians.  Sometimes  these  jarring  tongues 
subsided  a  little,  when  half  a  dozen  or  so  would  stop  to 
blow  ;  but  in  the  next  moment  the  chorus  would  swell  again 
in  a  new  and  livelier  accrescendo.  When  this  process  had 
gone  on  for"  half  an  hour,  Mr.  Meadows  lifted  up  his  voice 
and  shouted,  "SILENCE!"  and  all  was  still. 

Now  were  to  commence  the  recitations,  during  which 
stillness  like  that  of  death  was  required.  For  as  great  a 
help  to  study  as  this  jargon  was,  Mr.  Meadows  found  that 
it  did  not  contribute  any  aid  to  the  doing  of  his  work. 

He  now  performed  an  interesting  feat.  He  put  his 
hand  behind  the  lapel  of  his  coat-collar,  and  then,  after 
withdrawing  it,  and  holding  it  up,  his  thumb  and  forefinger 
joined  together,  he  said  : 

"  There  is  too  much  fuss  here.  I'm  going  to  drop  this 
pin,  and  I  shall  whip  every  single  one  of  you  little  boys 
that  don't  hear  it  when  it  falls.  Thar! " 

"  I  heerd  it,  Mr.  Meadows!  I  heerd  it,  Mr.  Meadows! " 
exclaimed,  simultaneously,  five  or  six  little  fellows. 

"  Come  up  here,  you  little  rascals.  You  are  a  liar! "  said 
he  to  each  one.  "  I  never  drapped  it ;  I  never  had  nary 
one  to  drap.  It  just  shows  what  liars  you  are.  Set  down 
and  wait  awhile,  I'll  show  you  how  to  tell  me  lies." 

The  little  liars  slunk  to  their  seats,  and  the  recitations 
commenced.  Memory  was  the  only  faculty  of  mind  that 
got  development  at  this  school.  Whoever  could  say  ex- 


jg  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

actly  what  the  book  said  was  adjudged  to  know  his  lesson. 
About  half  of  the  pupils  on  this  morning  were  successful. 
The  other  half  were  found  to  be  delinquent.  Among  these 
was  Asa  Boatright.  That  calculating  young  gentleman 
knew  his  words  and  felt  safe.  The  class  had  spelled  around 
three  or  four  times,  when  lo!  the  contingency  which  Allen 
Thigpen  had  suggested  did  come  to  pass.  Betsy  Wiggins 
missed  her  word;  Heneritter  Bangs  (in  the  language  of 
Allen)  hern,  and  Mandy  Grizzle  hern ;  and  thus  responsi 
bilities  were  suddenly  cast  upon  Asa  which  he  was  wholly 
unprepared  to  meet,  and  which,  from  the  look  of  mighty 
reproach  that  he  gave  each  of  these  young  ladies  as  she 
handed  over  her  word,  he  evidently  thought  it  the  height 
of  injustice  that  he  should  have  been  called  upon  to  meet. 
Mr.  Meadows,  closing  the  book,  tossed  it  to  Asa,  who, 
catching  it  as  it  was  falling  at  his  feet,  turned,  and  his  eyes 
swimming  with  tears,  went  back  to  his  seat.  As  he  passed 
Allen  Thigpen,  the  latter  whispered : 

"  What  did  I  tell  you?  You  heerd  the  pin  drap  too! " 
Now,  Allen  was  in  no  plight  to  have  given  this  taunt  to 
Asa.  He  had  not  given  five  minutes'  study  to  his  arith 
metic  during  the  whole  morning.  But  Mr.  Meadows  made 
a  rule  (this  one  with  himself,  though  all  the  pupils  knew  it 
better  than  any  rule  he  had)  never  to  allow  Allen  to  miss 
a  lesson ;  and  as  he  had  kindly  taken  this  responsibility 
upon  himself,  Allen  was  wont  to  give  himself  no  trouble 
about  the  matter. 

Brinkly  Glisson  was  the  last  to  recite.  Brinkly  was  no 
great  hand  at  pronunciation.  He  had  been  reading  but  a 
short  time  when  Mr.  Meadows  advanced  him  into  geogra 
phy,  with  the  purpose,  as  Brinkly  afterward  came  to  be 
lieve,  of  getting  the  half-dollar  extra  tuition.  This  morning 
he  thought  he  knew  his  lesson  ;  and  he  did,  as  he  under 
stood  it.  When  called  to  recite,  he  went  up  with  a  counte- 


THE  GOOSEPOND  SCHOOL.  !9 

nance  expressive  of  mild  happiness,  handed  the  book  to 
Mr.  Meadows,  and,  putting  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
awaited  the  questions.  And  now  it  was  an  interesting 
sight  to  see  Mr.  Meadows  smile  as  Brinkly  talked  of  is-lands 
and  promonitaries,  thismuses  and  hemispheries.  The  lad 
misunderstood  that  smile,  and  his  heart  was  glad  for  the 
unexpected  reception  of  a  little  complacency  from  the 
master.  But  he  was  not  long  in  error. 

"Is-lands,  eh?  Thismuses,  eh?  Take  this  book  and 
see  if  you  can  find  any  is-lands  and  promonitaries,  and 
then  bring  them  to  me.  I  want  to  see  them  things,  I  do. 
Find  'em,  if  you  please." 

Brinkly  took  the  book,  and  it  would  have  melted  the 
heart  of  any  other  man  to  see  the  deep  despair  of  his  heart 
as  he  looked  on  it  and  was  spelling  over  to  himself  the 
words  as  he  came  to  them. 

"  Mr.  Meadows,"  he  said,  in  pleading  tones,  "  I  thought 
it  was  is-land.  Here  it  is,  I-s-is-1-a-n-d-land :  is-land;" 
and  he  looked  into  his  face  beseechingly. 

"Is-land,  eh?  Is-land!  Now,  thismuses  and  promoni 
taries  and  hemispheries — " 

"  Mr.  Meadows,  I  did  not  know  how  to  pronounce  them 
words.  I  asked  you  how  to  pronounce  'em,  and  you 
wouldn't  tell  me ;  and  I  asked  Allen,  and  he  told  me  the 
way  I  said  them." 

"  I  believe  that  to  be  a  lie."  Brinkly's  face  reddened, 
and  his  breathing  was  fast  and  hard.  He  looked  at  the 
master  as  but  once  or  twice  before  during  the  term,  but 
made  no  answer.  At  that  moment  Allen  leaned  carelessly 
on  his  desk,  his  elbows  resting  on  it,  and  his  chin  on  his 
hands,  and  said  dryly : 

"  Yes,  I  did  tell  him  so." 

The  man  reddened  a  little.  After  a  moment's  pause, 
however,  he  said : 


20  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

"  How  often  have  I  got  to  tell  you  not  to  ask  anybody 
but  me  how  to  pronounce  words?  That'll  do,  sir ;  set  down, 
sir." 

Brinkly  went  back  to  his  seat,  and,  looking  gloomily 
toward  the  door  a  minute  or  two,  he  opened  his  book, 
but  studied  it  no  more. 


CHAPTER  V. 

MR.  MEADOWS  now  set  about  what  was  the  most  agree 
able  portion  of  the  duties  of  his  new  vocation,  the  punish 
ment  of  offenders.  The  lawyers  tell  us  that,  of  all  the 
departments  of  the  law,  the  vindicatory  is  the  most  impor 
tant.  This  element  of  the  Goosepond  establishment  had 
been  cultivated  so  much  that  it  had  grown  beyond  all 
reasonable  proportion  to  the  others.  As  for  the  declaratory 
and  the  directory,  they  seemed  to  be  considered,  when  clearly 
understood,  as  impediments  to  a  fair  showing  and  proper 
development  of  the  vindicatory,  insomuch  that  the  last 
was  often  by  their  means  disappointed  of  its  victim. 
Sometimes,  when  his  urchins  would  not  "  miss,"  or  violate 
some  of  his  numerous  laws,  Mr.  Meadows  used,  in  the 
plenitude  of  his  power,  to  put  the  vindicatory  first — punish 
an  offender,  declare  what  the  latter  had  done  to  be  an  offense 
and  then  direct  him  that  he  had  better  not  do  so  any 
more.  Mr.  Meadows,  indeed,  seemed  to  owe  a  grudge  to 
society.  Whether  this  was  because  society  had  not  given 
him  a  father  as  it  had  done  to  almost  everybody  else,  or 
because  it  had  interfered  in  the  peaceful  occupation  which 
had  descended  from  his  grandfather  (as  if  to  avenge  itself 
on  him  for  violating  one  of  its  express  commands  that 
such  as  he  should  inherit  from  nobody),  did  not  appear. 


THE   GOOSEPOND   SCHOOL.  2I 

But  he  owed  it,  and  he  delighted  in  paying  it  off  in  his 
peculiar  way ;  this  was  by  beating  the  children  of  his  school, 
every  one  of  whom  had  a  father.  Eminently  combative 
by  nature,  it  was  both  safest  and  most  satisfactory  to  wage 
his  warfare  on  this  general  scale.  So,  on  this  fine  morning, 
by  way  of  taking  up  another  instalment  of  this  immense 
debt,  which  like  most  other  debts  seemed  as  if  it  never 
would  get  fully  paid,  he  took  down  his  bundle  of  rods  from 
two  pegs  in  one  of  the  logs  on  which  he  had  placed  them, 
selected  one  fit  for  his  purpose,  and  taking  his  position  in 
the  middle  of  the  space  between  the  fireplace  and  the  rows 
of  desks,  he  sat  down  in  his  chair.  A  moderate  smile  over 
spread  his  countenance  as  he  said : 

"Them  spellin'  classes  and  readin'  classes,  and  them 
others  that's  got  to  be  whipped,  all  but  Sam  Pate  and  Asa 
Boatright,  come  to  the  circus." 

Five  or  six  boys  and  as  many  girls,  from  eight  to  thirteen 
years  old,  came  up,  and,  sitting  down  on  the  front  bench 
which  extended  all  along  the  length  of  the  two  rows  of 
desks,  pulled  off  their  shoes  and  stockings.  The  boys  then 
rolled  up  their  pants,  and  the  girls  lifted  the  skirts  of  their 
frocks  to  their  knees,  and,  having  made  a  ring  around  the 
master  as  he  sat  in  his  chair,  all  began  a  brisk  trot.  They 
had  described  two  or  three  revolutions,  and  he  was 
straightening  his  switch,  when  Asa  Boatright  ran  up,  and, 
crying  piteously,  said  : 

"  Please,  sir,  Mr.  Meadows — oh  pray  do,  sir,  Mr.  Mead 
ows — let  me  go  into  the  circus! " 

Mr.  Meadows  rose  and  was  about  to  strike ;  but  another 
thought  seemed  to  occur  to  him.  He  looked  at  him  amus 
edly  for  a  moment,  and  pointed  to  his  seat.  Asa  took  it. 
Mr.  Meadows  resumed  his  chair,  and  proceeded  to  tap 
the  legs,  both  male  and  female,  as  they  trotted  around 
him.  This  was  done  at  first  very  gently,  and  almost  lov- 


22  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

ingly.  But  as  the  sport  wanned  in  interest,  the  blows  in 
creased  in  rapidity  and  violence.  The  children  began  to 
cry  out,  and  then  he  struck  the  harder ;  for  it  was  a  rule 
(oh!  he  was  a  mighty  man  for  rules,  this  same  Mr.  Mead 
ows)  that  whoever  cried  the  loudest  should  be  hit  the  hard 
est.  He  kept  up  this  interesting  exercise  until  he  had  given 
them  about  twenty-five  lashes  apiece.  He  then  ceased. 
They  stopped  instantly,  walked  around  him  once,  then, 
seating  themselves  upon  the  bench,  they  resumed  their 
shoes  and  stockings,  and  went  to  their  seats.  One  girl, 
thirteen  years  old,  Henrietta  Bangs,  had  begged  him  to  let 
her  keep  on  her  stockings ;  but  he  was  too  firm  a  discipli 
narian  to  allow  it.  When  the  circus  was  over  she  put  on 
her  shoes,  and,  taking  up  her  stockings  and  putting  them 
under  her  apron,  she  went  to  her  seat  and  sobbed  as  if  her 
heart  were  broken. 

Allen  Thigpen  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  and  then  he 
turned  his  eyes  slowly  around  and  looked  at  Brinkly  Glis- 
son.  He  sat  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  his  lips 
compressed.  Allen  knew  what  struggle  was  going  on, 
but  he  could  not  tell  how  it  would  end.  Mr.  Meadows 
rested  three  minutes. 

It  has  possibly  occurred  to  those  who  may  be  reading 
this  little  history  that  it  was  a  strange  thing  in  Asa  Boat- 
right,  who  so  well  knew  all  the  ways  of  Mr.  Meadows, 
that  he  should  have  expressed  so  decisive  a  wish  to  take 
part  in  this  last  described  exhibition — an  exhibition  which, 
however  entertaining  to  Mr.  Meadows  as  it  doubtless  was, 
and  might  be  perchance  to  other  persons  placed  in  the  at 
titude  of  spectators  merely,  could  not  be  in  the  highest  de 
gree  agreeable  to  one  in  the  attitude  which  Master  Asa 
must  have  foreseen  that  he  would  be  made  to  assume  had 
Mr.  Meadows  vouchsafed  to  yield  to  his  request.  But 
Asa  Boatright  was  not  a  fool,  nor  was  he  a  person  who  had 


THE   GOOSEPOND   SCHOOL.  23 

no  care  for  his  physical  well-being.  In  other  words,  Asa 
Boatright  knew  what  he  was  about. 

"Sam  Pate  and  Asa  Boatright!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Mead 
ows,  after  his  rest.  "  Come  out  here  and  go  to  horsin'." 

The  two  nags  came  out.  Master  Pate  inclined  himself 
forward,  and  Master  Boatright  leaped  with  some  agility 
upon  his  back.  The  former,  gathering  the  latter's  legs 
under  his  arms,  and  drawing  as  tightly  as  possible  his  pants 
across  his  middle,  began  galloping  gayly  around  the  area 
before  the  fireplace.  Mr.  Meadows,  after  taking  a  fresh 
hickory,  began  to  apply  it  with  force  and  precision  to  that 
part  of  Master  Boatright's  little  body  which  in  his  present 
attitude  was  most  exposed.  Every  application  of  this  kind 
caused  that  young  gentleman  to  scream,  and  even  to  make 
spasmodic  efforts  to  kick,  which  Master  Pate,  being  for 
the  occasion  a  horse,  was  to  understand  as  an  expression 
on  the  part  of  his  _  rider  that  he  should  get  on  faster,  and 
so  Master  Pate  must  frisk  and  prance  and  otherwise  imi 
tate  a  horse  as  well  as  possible  in  the  circumstances. 
Now,  the  circumstances  being  that  as  soon  as  Master  Boat- 
right  should  have  ridden  long  enough  to  become  incapac 
itated  from  riding  a  real  horse  with  comfort,  they  were  to 
reverse  positions,  Master  Boatright  becoming  horse  and 
himself  rider,  they  were  hardly  sufficient  to  make  him  en 
tirely  forget  his  identity  in  the  personation  of  that  quadru 
ped.  He  did  his  best,  though,  in  the  circumstances,  and 
not  only  frisked  and  pranced,  but  neighed  several  times. 
When  Asa  was  placed  in  the  condition  hinted  at  above,  he 
was  allowed  to  dismount.  Sam  having  mounted  on  his 
back,  it  was  stirring  to  the  feelings  to  see  the  latter  kick 
and  the  former  prance.  This  was  always  the  best  part  of 
the  show.  A  rule  of  this  exercise  was  that,  when  the  rider 
should  dismount  and  become  horse,  he  was  to  act  well  his 
part  or  be  made  to  resume  the  part  of  rider — a  prospect 


24  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

not  at  all  agreeable,  each  one  decidedly  preferring  to  be 
horse.  Sam  was  about  three  years  older  and  fifteen 
pounds  heavier  than  Asa.  Now,  while  Asa  had  every 
motive  which  as  sensible  a  horse  as  he  was  could  have  to 
do  his  best,  yet  he  was  so  sore,  and  Sam,  with  the  early 
prospect  of  butting  his  brains  out,  was  so  heavy,  that  he 
had  great  difficulties.  He  exhibited  the  most  laudable  de 
sire  and  made  the  most  faithful  efforts  to  prance,  but  he 
could  not  keep  his  feet.  Finding  that  he  could  do  no 
great  things  at  prancing,  he  endeavored  to  make  up  by 
neighing.  When  Sam  would  cry  out  and  kick,  Asa  would 
neigh.  He  would  occasionally  run  against  the  wall  and 
neigh  as  if  he  were  delighted.  He  would  lift  up  one  foot 
and  neigh.  He  would  put  it  down,  lift  up  the  other  and 
neigh.  Then  when  he  attempted  to  lift  up  both  feet  at 
once,  he  would  fall  down  and  neigh.  Again  would  he 
neigh  even  in  the  act  of  rising,  apparently  resolved  to 
convince  the  world  that,  notwithstanding  appearances  to 
the  contrary,  he  was  as  plucky  a  little  horse  as  had  ever 
trotted.  Never  before  had  Asa  acted  his  part  so  well  in 
the  horsin'  at  the  Goosepond.  Never  had  horse,  with  such 
odds  on  his  back,  neighed  so  lustily.  Sam  screamed  and 
kicked.  Asa  pranced  and  neighed,  until  at  last,  as  he 
stumbled  violently  against  the  bench,  Sam  let  go  his  hold 
upon  his  neck,  in  order  to  avoid  breaking  his  own,  and 
fell  sprawling  on  his  belly  under  a  desk.  This  sudden  re 
moval  of  the  burden  from  Asa's  back  made  his  efforts  to 
recover  from  his  false  step  successful  beyond  all  calcula 
tion,  and  he  fell  backward,  head-foremost,  upon  the  floor. 
Mr.  Meadows,  contrary  to  his  wont,  roared  with  laughter. 
He  dropped  his  switch,  and  ordered  them  to  their  seats. 
They  obeyed,  and  sat  down  with  that  graduated  declen 
sion  of  body  in  which  experience  had  taught  them  to  be 
prudent. 


THE   GOOSEPOND   SCHOOL.  25 


CHAPTER    VI. 

AFTER  the  close  of  the  last  performance,  Mr.  Meadows 
seemed  to  need  another  resting  spell.  He  always  liked  to 
be  as  fresh  as  possible  for  the  next  scene.  The  most  in 
teresting,  the  most  exciting,  and  in  some  respects  the  most 
delightful  exercise  was  yet  to  follow.  This  was  the  pun 
ishment  of  Brinkly  Glisson. 

Now,  Brinkly  was  one  of  the  best  boys  in  the  world. 
He  was  the  only  son  of  a  poor  widow,  who,  at  much  sac 
rifice,  had  sent  him  to  school.  He  had  pitched  and  tended 
the  crop  of  a  few  acres  around  the  house,  and  she  had  pro 
cured  the  promise  of  a  neighbor  to  help  her  in  gathering  it 
when  ripe.  Brinkly  was  the  apple  of  her  eye,  the  idol  of 
her  heart.  He  was  to  her  as  we  always  think  of  him  of 
whom  it  was  said,  "  He  was  the  only  son  of  his  mother, 
and  she  was  a  widow."  And  Brinkly  had  rewarded  her 
love  and  care  with  all  the  feelings  of  his  honest,  affection 
ate  heart.  He  was  more  anxious  to  learn  for  her  sake 
than  his  own.  He  soon  came  to  read  tolerably  well,  and 
was  advanced  to  geography.  How  proud  was  the  widow 
when  she  bought  the  new  geography  and  atlas  with  the 
proceeds  of  four  pairs  of  socks  which  she  had  knit  with 
her  own  hands.  What  a  world  of  knowledge,  she  thought, 
there  must  be  in  a  book  with  five  times  as  many  pages  as 
a  spelling-book,  and  in  those  great  red,  blue,  and  pink 
pictures,  covering  a  whole  page  a  foot  square,  and  all 
this  knowledge  to  become  the  property  of  Brinkly!  But 
Brinkly  soon  found  that  geography  was  above  his  pres 
ent  capacity,  and  so  told  Mr.  Meadows.  That  gentle 
man  received  the  communication  with  displeasure ;  said 
that  what  was  the  matter  with  him  was  laziness,  and  that 


26  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

laziness,  of  all  the  qualities  which  a  boy  had,  was  the  one 
which  he  knew  best  what  to  do  with.  He  then  took  to 
beating  him.  Brinkly,  after  the  first  beating,  which  was  a 
light  one,  went  home  and  told  his  mother  of  it,  and  inti 
mated  his  intention  not  to  take  another.  The  widow  was 
sorely  distressed,  and  knew  not  what  to  do.  On  the  one 
hand  was  her  grief  to  know  her  son  was  unjustly  beaten, 
and  his  spirit  cowed ;  for  she  knew  that  he  studied  all  the 
time  he  had,  and,  though  uneducated  herself,  she  was  not 
like  many  other  parents  of  her  day  who  thought  that  the 
best  means  to  develop  the  mind  was  to  beat  the  body.  But 
on  the  other  hand  would  be  his  failing  to  obtain  an  educa 
tion  if  he  should  leave  the  school,  there  being  then  no  other 
in  the  neighborhood.  This,  thought  the  poor  woman,  was 
the  worst  horn  of  the  dilemma;  and  so  she  wept,  and 
begged  him,  as  he  loved  her,  to  submit.  He  should  have 
the  more  time  for  study ;  she  would  chop  the  wood  and 
feed  the  stock ;  he  should  have  all  the  time  at  home  to  him 
self  ;  he  could  get  it,  she  knew  he  could ;  it  would  come 
to  him  after  awhile. 

Brinkly  yielded ;  but  how  many  a  hard  struggle  he  made 
to  continue  that  submission  no  one  knew  but  he.  Mr. 
Meadows  could  see  this  struggle  sometimes.  He  knew 
that  the  boy  was  not  afraid  of  him.  He  saw  it  in  his  eye 
every  time  he  beat  him,  and  it  was  this  which  imparted  such 
eagerness  to  continue.  He  wished  to  subdue  him,  and  he 
had  not  succeeded.  Brinkly  would  never  beg  nor  weep. 
Mr.  Meadows  often  thought  he  was  on  the  point  of  re 
sisting  him ;  but  he  knew  the  reason  why  he  did  not,  and, 
while  he  hated  him  for  it,  he  trusted  that  it  would  last. 
Yet  he  often  doubted  whether  it  would  or  not ;  and  thus 
the  matter  became  so  intensely  exciting  that  he  continually 
sought  for  opportunities  of  bringing  it  up.  He  loved  to 
tempt  him.  He  had  no  doubt  but  that  he  could  easily 


THE   GOOSErOND   SCHOOL. 


27 


manage  him  in  an  even  combat ;  but  he  did  not  wish  it  to 
come  to  that.  He  only  gloried  in  goading  him  almost  to 
resistance,  and  then  seeing  him  yield. 

Have  we  not  all  seen  how  the  showman  adapts  himself 
to  the  different  animals  of  the  menagerie?  How  quickly 
and  sharply  he  speaks  to  the  lesser  animals,  which  jump 
over  his  wand  and  back,  and  over  and  back  again,  and 
then  crouch  in  submission  as  he  passes  by!  But  when  he 
goes  to  the  lion,  you  can  scarcely  hear  his  low  tones  as  he 
commands  him  to  rise  and  perform  his  .part,  and  is  not 
certain  whether  the  king  of  the  beasts  will  do  as  he  is  bid 
den  or  not.  Doubts  like  these  were  in  the  mind  of  Mr. 
Meadows  whenever  he  was  about  to  set  upon  Brinkly  Glis- 
son ;  but,  the  greater  these  doubts,  the  more  he  enjoyed 
the  trial.  After  a  short  rest  from  the  fatigues  of  the  last 
exercise,  during  which  he  curiously  and  seriously  eyed  the 
lad,  he  rose  from  his  seat,  paced  slowly  across  the  room 
once  or  twice,  and  taking  a  hickory  switch,  the  longest  of 
all  he  had,  he  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  in  a 
low,  quiet  tone,  said : 

"Brinkly  Glisson,  come." 

Allen  had  been  eying  Brinkly  all  the  time  since  the  close 
of  the  circus.  He  noted  the  conflict  which  was  going  on 
in  his  soul,  and  he  thought  he  saw  that  the  conflict  was 
going  to  end. 

Slowly  and  calmly  Brinkly  rose  from  his  seat,  and  walked 
up  and  stood  before  Mr.  Meadows. 

"Why,  hi!"  thought  Allen. 

"  Off  with  your  coat,  sir  " — low  and  gentle,  and  with  a 
countenance  almost  smiling.  Brinkly  stood  motionless. 
But  he  had  done  so  once  or  twice  before,  in  similar  cir 
cumstances,  and  at  length  had  yielded.  "  Off  with  it,  sir  " — 
louder  and  not  so  gentle.  No  motion  on  Brinkly's  part, 
not  even  in  his  eyes,  which  looked  steadily  into  the  mas- 


28  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

ter's,  with  a  meaning  which  he  nearly,  but  not  quite,  under 
stood. 

"  Ain't  you  going  to  pull  off  that  coat,  sir?  " 

"  What  for?"  asked  Brinkly. 

"  What  for,  sir?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  what  for?  " 

"  Because  I  am  going  to  give  you  this  hickory,  you  im 
pudent  scoundrel ;  and  if  you  don't  pull  it  off  this  minute, 
I'll  give  you  sich  a  beatin'  as'll  make  you  feel  like  you 
never  was  whipped  before  since  you  was  born.  Ain't  you 
going  to  pull  it  off,  sir?  " 

"  Not  now,  sir?" 

Allen  wriggled  on  his  seat,  and  his  face  shone  as  the  full 
moon.  Mr.  Meadows  retreated  a  step,  and  holding  his 
switch  two  feet  from  the  larger  end,  he  raised  that  end  to 
strike. 

"  Stop  one  minute,  if  you  please." 

Mr.  Meadows  lowered  his  arm,  and  his  face  smiled  a 
triumph.  This  was  the  first  time  Brinkly  had  ever  begged. 
He  chuckled.  Allen  looked  disappointed. 

"Stop,  eh?  I  yi!  This  end  looks  heavy,  does  it? 
Well,  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  if  it  warn't  sorter  heavy. 
Will  you  pull  off  your  coat  now,  sir?  " 

"  Mr.  Meadows,  I  asked  you  to  stop  because  I  wanted 
to  say  a  few  words  to  you.  You  have  beat  me  and  beat 
me,  worse  than  you  ought  to  beat  a  dog  "  (Allen's  face  get 
ting  right  again) ;  "  and  God  in  heaven  knows  that,  in  the 
time  that  I  have  come  to  school  to  you,  I  have  tried  as 
hard  as  a  boy  ever  did  to  please  you  and  get  my  lessons. 
I  can't  understand  that  jography,  and  I  ain't  been  readin' 
long  enough  to  understand  it.  I  have  asked  you  to  let  me 
quit.  Mother  has  asked  you.  You  wouldn't  do  it ;  but 
beat  me,  and  beat  me,  and  beat  me  "  (there  is  no  telling 
whether  Allen  wants  to  laugh  or  cry),  "  and  now,  the  more 


THE   GOOSEPOND    SCHOOL. 


29 


I  study  it,  the  more  I  don't  understand  it.  I  would  have 
quit  school  long  ago,  but  mother  was  so  anxious  for  me  to 
learn,  and  made  me  come.  And  now  I  have  took  off  my 
coat  to  you  the  last  time."  (Ah!  now  there  is  a  great  tear 
in  Allen's  eye.)  "  Listen  to  me  "  (as  the  teacher's  hand 
makes  a  slight  motion) ;  "  don't  strike  me.  I  know  I'm 
not  learnin'  anything,  and  your  beatin'  ain't  going  to  make 
me  learn  any  faster.  If  you  are  determined  to  keep  me 
in  this  jography,  and  to  beat  me,  just  say  so,  and  I'll  take 
my  hat  and  books  and  go  home.  I'd  like  to  not  come  to 
day,  but  I  thought  I  knew  my  lesson.  Now,  I  say  again, 
don't,  for  God's  sake,  don't  strike  me."  And  he  raised  up 
both  his  hands,  pale  and  trembling. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  surprise  and  rage 
expressed  on  the  face  of  Mr.  Meadows  during  the  delivery 
and  at  the  close  of  this  little  harangue.  He  looked  at  the 
boy  a  moment.  Brinkly's  countenance  expressed  the  deepest 
sadness  ;  but  there  was  nothing  it  like  defiance  or  threaten 
ing.  It  was  simply  sad  and  beseeching.  The  master  hes 
itated,  and  looked  around  upon  his  school.  It  would  not 
do  to  retreat  now,  he  thought.  With  an  imprecation,  he 
raised  his  switch  and  struck  with  all  his  might. 

"  My  God ! "  cried  the  boy ;  but  in  an  instant  sadness 
and  beseeching  passed  from  his  face.  The  long-pent-up 
resentment  of  his  soul  gushed  forth,  and  the  fury  of  a  de 
mon  glared  from  his  eyes.  He  was  preparing  to  spring 
upon  Mr.  Meadows,  when  the  latter,  by  a  sudden  rush, 
caught  him  and  thrust  him  backward  over  the  front  bench. 
They  both  tumbled  on  the  floor,  between  the  rows  of  desks, 
Mr.  Meadows  uppermost. 

"  It's  come,"  said  Allen  quietly,  as  he  rose  and  looked 
down  upon  the  combatants ;  "  it's  been  a  long  time  a- 
comin',  and  by  good  rights  ought  to  a  come  long  ago  ;  but 
it's  come  now." 


30  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

Mr.  Meadows  attempted  to  disengage  himself  and  rise ; 
but  Brinkly  would  rise  with  him.  After  several  attempts 
at  this,  Brinkly  managed  to  get  upon  one  knee,  and,  by  a 
violent  jerk,  to  bring  his  assailant  down  upon  the  floor, 
where  they  were,  in  the  phraseology  of  the  wrestling-ring, 
cross  and  pile.  Mr.  Meadows  shouted  to  two  or  three  of 
the  boys  to  hold  Brinkly  until  he  could  rise.  They  rose  to 
obey,  but  Allen,  without  saying  a  word,  put  out  his  hand 
before  them,  and,  motioning  them  to  their  seats,  they  re 
sumed  them.  And  now  the  contest  set  in  for  good,  Mr. 
Meadows  struggling  to  recover  his  advantage,  and  Brinkly 
to  improve  what  he  had  gained.  The  former's  right  arm 
was  thrown  across  the  latter's  neck,  his  right  hand  wound 
in  and  pulling  violently  his  hair,  while  his  left  hand  pressed 
against  his  breast.  Brinkly's  left  leg  was  across  Mr.  Mead 
ows'  middle,  and  with  his  right  against  a  stationary  desk, 
his  right  arm  bent  and  lying  under  him  like  a  lizard's,  and 
his  left  in  Mr.  Meadows'  shirt-collar,  he  struggled  to  get 
uppermost ;  but  whenever  he  attempted  to  raise  his  head, 
that  hand  wound  in  his  hair  would  instantly  bring  it  back 
to  the  floor.  When  Mr.  Meadows  attempted  to  disengage 
himself  from  underneath  Brinkly's  leg,  that  member,  as 
sisted  by  its  brother  from  the  desk,  against  which  it  was 
pressed,  held  it  like  the  boa  holds  the  bullock.  Oh,  Mr. 
Meadows,  Mr.  Meadows!  you  don't  know  the  boy  that 
grapples  with  you.  You  have  never  known  anything  at 
all  about  him.  You  blow,  Mr.  Meadows !  See !  Brinkly 
blows  not  half  so  hard.  Remember,  you  walk  a  mile  to 
and  from  the  school,  and  Brinkly  seven,  often  running  the 
first  half.  Besides,  there  is  something  in  Brinkly's  soul 
which  will  not  let  him  tire  now.  The  remembrance  of 
long-continued  wrongs,  that  cannot  longer  be  borne ;  the 
long-subdued  but  now  inextinguishable  desire  of  revenge ; 
every  hostile  feeling  except  fear — all  these  are  now  domi- 


THE   GOOSEPOND    SCHOOL.  3! 

nant  in  that  simple  heart,  and  they  have  made  of  him  a 
man,  and  if  you  hope  to  conquer  you  must  fight  as  you 
never  have  fought  before,  and  never  may  have  to  fight 
again. 

Your  right  hand  pulls  less  vigorously  at  the  hair  of  Brink 
ly's  ascending  head.  Look  there!  Brinkly's  leg  has 
moved  an  inch  further  across  you!  Wring  and  twist,  Mr. 
Meadows,  for  right  under  that  leg,  if  anywhere  for  you,  is 
now  the  post  of  honor.  Can't  you  draw  out  your  left  leg 
and  plant  it  against  the  desk  behind  you,  as  Brinkly  does 
with  his  right?  Alas!  no.  Brinkly  has  now  made  a  hook 
of  his  left,  and  his  heel  is  pressing  close  into  the  cavity  be 
hind  your  knee.  Ah !  that  was  an  unlucky  move  for  you 
then,  when  you  let  Brinkly's  hair  go,  and  thrust  both  of 
your  hands  at  his  eyes.  You  must  have  done  that  in  a 
passion.  But  see  there,  now !  he  has  released  his  grasp  at 
your  shirt-collar,  and  thrown  his  left  arm  over  you.  Good- 
morning  to  you  now,  Mr.  Meadows! 

In  the  instant  that  Mr.  Meadows  had  released  his  hold 
upon  his  hair,  Brinkly,  though  he  was  being  gouged  terri 
bly,  released  his  hold  upon  his  collar,  threw  his  arm  over 
his  neck,  and  pushing  with  all  his  might  with  his  right  leg 
against  the  desk,  and  making  a  corresponding  pull  with  his 
left,  he  succeeded  in  getting  fully  upon  him ;  then,  spring 
ing  up  quick  as  lightning,  as  Mr.  Meadows,  panting,  his 
eyes  gleaming  with  the  fury  of  an  enraged  tiger,  was  at 
tempting  to  rise,  he  dealt  him  a  blow  in  the  face  with  his 
fist  which  sent  him  back  bleeding  like  a  butchered  beast. 
Once  more  the  master  attempted  to  rise,  and  those  who 
saw  it  will  never  forget  that  piteous  spectacle  of  rage,  and 
shame,  and  pain,  and  fear.  Once  more  Brinkly  struck 
him  back.  How  that  boy's  face  shone  out  with  those 
gaudia  certaminis  which  the  brave  always  feel  when  in  the 
midst  of  an  inevitable  and  righteous  combat!  Springing 
3 


32  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

upon  his  adversary  again,  and  seizing  his  arms  and  pinion 
ing  them  under  his  knees,  he  wound  his  hands  in  his  shaggy 
hair,  and  raising  his  head,  thrust  it  down  several  times  with 
all  his  might  against  the  floor. 

"Spare  me!  for  God's  sake,  spare  me!"  cried  Mr. 
Meadows,  in  tones  never  before  heard  from  him  in  that 
house. 

Brinkly  stopped.  "Spare  you!"  he  said,  now  panting 
himself.  "  Yes !  you  who  never  spared  anything  that  you 
could  hurt !  Poor  coward !  You  loved  to  beat  other  peo 
ple,  and  gloried  in  seeing  them  suffering,  and  when  they 
begged  you  to  spare  them,  you  laughed — you  did.  Oh, 
how  I  have  heard  you  laugh,  when  they  asked  you  to  spare 
them !  And  now,  beat  yourself  and  whipped,  you  beg  like 
a  dog.  Yes,  and  I  will  spare  you,"  he  continued,  rising 
from  him.  "  It  would  be  a  pity  to  beat  any  such  a  poor 
cowardly  human  any  longer.  Now  go!  and  make  them 
poor  things  there  go  to  horsin'  again,  and  cut  'em  in  two 
again!  and  then  get  in  the  circus  ring,  and  make  them 
others,  girls  and  all — yes,  girls  and  all — hold  up  their 
clothes  and  trot  around  you,  and  when  they  cry  like  you, 
and  beg  you  to  spare  'em,  do  you  laugh  again! " 

He  rose  and  turned  away  from  him.  Gathering  up  his 
books,  he  went  to  the  peg  whereon  his  hat  was  hanging, 
and  was  in  the  act  of  taking  it  down,  when  a  sudden  re 
vulsion  of  feeling  came  over  him,  and  he  sat  down  and 
wept  and  wept. 

The  feelings  in  that  poor  boy's  breast!  The  recollec 
tion  of  the  wrongs  he  had  suffered ;  of  the  motives,  so  full 
of  pious  duty,  which  had  made  him  endure  them ;  the 
thought  of  how  mistaken  had  been  the  wish  of  his  mother 
that  he  should  endure  them ;  and  then  of  how  terribly  they 
had  been  avenged :  these  all  meeting  at  once  in  his  gen 
tle,  untaught  spirit,  overcame  it,  and  broke  it  into  weeping. 


THE   GOOSEPOND    SCHOOL. 


33 


Meanwhile,  other  things  were  going  on.  Mr.  Meadows, 
haggard,  bruised,  bleeding,  covered  with  dirt,  slunk  off  to 
ward  the  fireplace,  sat  down  in  his  chair,  and  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands.  The  pupils  had  been  in  the  highest 
states  of  alternate  alarm  and  astonishment.  They  were 
now  all  standing  about  their  seats,  looking  alternately  at 
Brinkly  and  Mr.  Meadows,  but  at  the  latter  mostly.  Their 
countenances  plainly  indicated  that  this  was  a  sight  which, 
in  their  minds,  had  never  before  been  vouchsafed  to  mor 
tal  vision.  A  schoolmaster  whipped !  beat !  choked !  his 
head  bumped!  and  that  by  one  of  his  pupils!  And  that 
schoolmaster  Mr.  Meadows! — Mr.  Meadows,  who,  ten 
minutes  before,  had  been  in  the  exercise  of  sovereign  and 
despotic  authority !  And  then  to  hear  him  beg !  A  school 
master!  — Mr.  Meadows!  — to  hear  him  actually  beg  Brinkly 
to  spare  him !  They  actually  began  to  feel  not  only  pity, 
but  some  resentment  at  what  had  been  done.  They  were 
terrified,  and  to  some  extent  miserable,  at  the  sight  of  so 
much  power,  so  much  authority,  so  much  royalty  dishon 
ored  and  laid  low.  Brinkly  seemed  to  them  to  have  been 
transformed.  He  was  a  murderer!  a  REGICIDE!  !  Talk 
of  the  divine  right  of  kings !  There  was  never  more  rev 
erence  felt  for  it  than  the  children  in  country  schools  felt 
for  the  kingly  dignity  of  the  schoolmaster  of  sixty  years 
agone. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

ALLEN  THIGPEN  was  the  only  one  of  the  pupils  who  did 
not  lose  his  wits  while  the  events  of  the  last  few  minutes 
were  taking  place.  While  the  contest  was  even  between 
the  combatants,  he  stood  gazing  down  upon  them  with  the 
most  intense  interest.  His  body  was  bent  down  slightly, 


34 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


and  his  arms  were  extended  in  a  semicircle,  as  if  to  exclude 
the  rest  of  the  world  from  a  scene  which  he  considered  all 
his  own.  When  Mr.  Meadows  called  for  quarter,  Allen 
folded  his  arms  across  his  breast,  and  to  a  tune  which  was 
meant  for  "  Auld  Lang  Syne,"  and  which  sounded,  indeed, 
more  like  that  than  any  other,  he  sang  as  he  turned  off, 

"Jerusalem,  my  happy  home." 

When  Mr.  Meadows  had  taken  his  seat,  he  looked  at 
him  for  a  moment  or  two  as  if  "hesitating  what  to  do.  He 
then  walked  slowly  to  him,  and  delivered  the  following 
oration : 

"  It's  come  to  it  at  last,  jest  as  I  said.  I  seen  it  from 
the  fust ;  you  ought  to  a  seen  it  yourself,  but  you  wouldn't, 
ur  you  couldn't,  and  I  don't  know  which,  and  it  makes  no 
odds  which ;  you  didn't.  I  did,  and  now  it's  come,  and 
sich  a  beatin',  Jerusalem  !  But  don't  you  be  too  much 
took  back  by  it.  You  warn't  goin'  to  keep  school  here  no 
longer'n  to-day,  nohow.  Now,  I  had  laid  off  in  my  mind 
to  have  gin  you  a  duckin'  this  very  day ;  and  I'll  tell  you 
for  why.  Not  as  I've  got  anything  particklar  agin  you 
myself ;  you  have  not  said  one  word  out  of  the  way  to  me 
this  whole  term.  But,  in  the  fust  place,  it's  not  my  opin 
ion,  nor  hain't  been  for  some  time,  that  you  are  fitten  to 
be  a  schoolmarster.  Thar's  them  sums  in  intrust  which  I 
can't  work,  and  which  you  can't  show  me  how  to  work,  or 
hain't  yit,  though  I've  been  cipherin'  in  it  now  two  months. 
And  thar's  Mely  Jones,  that's  in  the  same,  and  she  hain't 
learnt  'em  neither,  and  dinged  if  I  believe  all  the  fault's  in 
me  and  her,  and  in  course  it  can't  be  in  the  book.  But 
that  ain't  the  main  thing;  it's  your  imposin'  disposition. 
If  this  here  schoolhouse,"  he  continued,  looking  around — 
"  if  this  here  schoolhouse  hain't  seen  more  unmerciful 
beatin'  than  any  other  schoolhouse  in  this  country,  then  I 


THE   GOOSEPOND   SCHOOL. 


35 


say  it's  a  pity  that  thar's  any  sich  a  thing  as  ejecation. 
And  if  the  way  things  has  been  car'd  on  in  this  here 
schoolhouse  sence  you've  been  in  it  is  the  onliest  way  of 
getting  of  a  ejecation,  then  I  say  again  it's  a  pity  thar's 
sich  a  thing.  It  ain't  worth  while  for  me  to  name  over  all 
the  ways  you've  had  of  tormentin'  o'  these  children.  You 
know  'em ;  I  know  'em ;  everybody  about  this  here  school- 
house  knows  'em.  Now,  as  I  said  before,  I  had  laid  off 
to  a  gin  you  a  duckin'  this  very  day,  and  this  mornin'  I 
was  going  to  let  Brinkly  into  it,  tell  I  found  that  the  time 
I  seen  was  a  comin'  in  him  was  done  come  ;  and  I  knowed 
he  wouldn't  jine  in  duckin'  you  on  account  of  his  mother. 
I've  been  thinking  o'  this  for  more'n  two  weeks,  bekase — 
now  listen  to  me;  didn't  you  say  you  was  from  South 
Calliner?  " 

Pausing  for,  but  not  receiving,  an  answer,  he  con 
tinued  : 

"Yes,  that's  what  you  said.  Well,  now,  I've  heern  a 
man — a  travelin'  man — who  stayed  all  night  at  our  house 
on  his  way  to  Fluriday,  say  he  knowed  you.  You  ain't 
from  South  Calliner ;  I  wish  you  was,  but  you  ain't ; 
you're  from  Columby  County,  and  I'm  ashamed  to  say  it. 
He  ast  me,  seein'  me  a-studyin',  who  I  went  to  school 
to  and  when  I  told  him  '  Meadows,'  says  he,  '  What 
Meadows?'  'Iserl,'  says  I.  'Iserl  Meadows  a  school- 
marster?  '  says  he,  and  he  laughed,  he  did ;  he  laughed  fit 
to  kill  hisself.  Well,  he  told  me  whar  you  was  raised,  and 
who  you  was.  But  you  needn't  be  too  bad  skeered.  I 
ain't  told  it  to  the  fust  human,  and  I  ain't  going  to,  tell  you 
leave.  Now,  I  had  laid  off,  as  I  told  you,  to  gin  you  a 
duckin',  but  I  hain't  the  heart  to  do  it,  and  you  in  the  fix 
you  are  now  at  the  present." 

Saying  which,  he  puckered  his  mouth  as  if  for  a  whistle, 
and  stalked  back  to  his  seat. 


36  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

Mr.  Meadows,  during  the  last  few  sentences  of  this 
harangue,  had  exhibited  evidences  of  a  new  emotion. 
When  Allen  told  him  what  the  traveler  had  said,  he  looked 
up  with  a  countenance  full  of  terror,  and,  beckoning  to  him 
imploringly,  they  went  out  of  the  house  together  a  few 
steps  and  stopped. 

"  I  never  done  you  any  harm,"  said  Mr.  Meadows. 

"  You  never  did,  certin  shore,"  answered  Allen,  "  nor  no 
particklar  good.  But  that's  neither  here  nor  thar ;  what 
do  you  want?" 

"  Don't  tell  what  you  heard  tell  I  git  away." 

"  Didn't  I  say  I  wouldn't?  But  you  must  leave  tol- 
er'ble  soon.  I  can't  keep  it  long.  I  fairly  eech  to  tell  it 
now." 

The  schoolmaster  stood  a  moment,  turning  his  hat  in  his 
hands,  as  if  hesitating  what  sort  of  leave  to  take.  He 
timidly  offered  Allen  his  hand. 

"  I'd  ruther  not,"  said  Allen,  and,  for  the  first  time, 
seemed  a  little  embarrassed.  Suddenly  the  man  hauled 
his  hat  on  his  head  and  walked  away.  He  had  just  en 
tered  the  path  in  the  thicket,  and,  turning  unobserved,  he 
paused,  and  looked  back  at  the  schoolhouse.  The  anger, 
the  impotent  rage,  the  chagrin  and  shame  which  were  de 
picted  upon  his  bloodshot  face!  He  paused  but  for  a 
moment ;  then,  raising  both  his  hands,  and  shaking  them 
toward  the  house,  without  saying  a  word,  he  turned  again 
and  almost  ran  along  the  path. 

After  he  had  gone,  Allen  took  Mr.  Meadow's  chair,  and, 
crossing  his  legs,  said : 

"  Well,  boys  and  gals,  the  Goosepond,  it  seem,  are  a 
broke-up  school.  The  schoolmarster  have,  so  to  speak, 
absquatulated.  Thar's  to  be  no  more  horsin'  here,  and  the 
circus  are  clean  shot  up.  And  the  only  thing  I  hates  about 
it  is,  that  it's  Brinkly  that's  done  it,  and  not  me.  But  he 


THE    GOOSEPOND   SCHOOL. 


37 


wouldn't  give  me  a  chance.  No,"  he  continued  sorrow 
fully,  and  as  if  speaking  to  himself,  "  he  wouldn't  give  me 
a  chance.  Nary  single  word  could  I  ever  git  him  to  say 
to  me  out  of  the  way.  I  have  misted  lessons :  'deed  I 
never  said  none.  I  never  kept  nary  single  rule  in  his 
school,  and  yit  he  wouldn't  say  nothin'  to  me." 

Then  rising  and  going  to  Brinkly,  he  put  his  hand  upon 
his  shoulder. 

"  No,  it's  jest  as  it  ought  to  a  been ;  you  was  the  one  to 
do  it ;  and,  in  the  name  of  all  that's  jest,  Brinkly  Glisson, 
what  is  you  been  cryin'  about  ?  Git  up,  boy,  and  go  and 
wash  your  face.  I  would  rather  have  done  what  you've 
done  than  to  a  been  the  man  that  fooled  the  Tory  in  the 
Revolutionary  War,  and  stoled  his  horse  in  the  Life  of 
Marion.  Come  along  and  wash  that  face  and  hands." 

He  almost  dragged  Brinkly  to  the  pail,  and  poured 
water  while  he  washed. 

The  children,  recovering  from  the  consternation  into 
which  they  had  been  thrown  by  the  combat  and  its  result, 
began  to  walk  about  the  house,  picking  up  their  books  and 
laying  them  down  again.  They  would  go  to  the  door  and 
look  out  toward  Mr.  Meadows'  path,  as  if  expecting, 
and,  indeed,  half-way  hoping,  half-way  fearing  that  he 
would  return ;  and  then  they  would  stand  around  Allen 
and  Brinkly,  as  the  latter  was  washing  and  drying  himself. 
But  they  spoke  not  a  word.  Suddenly,  Allen,  mimicking 
the  tone  of  Mr.  Meadows,  cried  out : 

"  Asa  Boatright  and  Sam  Pate,  go  to  horsin'  ! " 

In  a  moment  they  all  burst  into  shouts  of  laughter. 
Asa  mounted  upon  Sam's  back,  and  Sam  pranced  about  and 
neighed,  oh,  so  gayly  !  Allen  got  a  switch  and  made  as 
if  he  would  strike  Asa,  and  that  young  gentleman,  for  the 
first  time  in  the  performance  of  this  interesting  exercise, 
screamed  with  delight  instead  of  pain. 


323466 


38  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

"  Let  Asa  be  the  schoolmairster,"  shouted  Allen.  "  Good- 
morning,  Mr.  Boatright,"  said  he,  with  mock  humility. 
"  Mr.  Boatright,  may  I  go  out  ?  "  asked,  timidly,  half  a 
dozen  boys. 

Asa  dismounted,  and,  seizing  a  hickory,  he  stood  up  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  the  others  formed  the  circus 
around  him.  Here  they  came  and  went,  jumping  over  his 
switch,  and  crying  out  and  stooping  to  rub  their  legs,  and 
begging  him  to  stop,  "for  God's  sake,  Mr.  Boatright, 
stop  ! " 

Suddenly  an  idea  struck  Mr.  Boatright.  Disbanding 
the  circus,  he  cried  out : 

"You,  Is'rl  Meadows,  come  up  here,  sir.  Been  a 
fighten,  have  you,  sir  ?  Come  up,  sir.  Oh,  here  you  are." 

Mr.  Boatright  fell  upon  the  teacher's  chair,  and  of  all 
the  floggings  ever  inflicted  upon  a  harmless  piece  of  furni 
ture,  that  unlucky  chair  did  then  and  there  receive  the 
worst.  Mr.  Boatright  called  it  names ;  he  dragged  it  over 
the  floor ;  he  threatened  to  burn  it  up ;  he  shook  it  vio 
lently  ;  he  knocked  it  against  the  wall ;  one  of  its  rounds 
falling  out,  he  beat  it  most  unmercifully  with  that ;  and  at 
last,  exhausted  by  the  exercise  and  satisfied  with  his  re 
venge,  he  indignantly  kicked  it  out-of-doors,  amid  the 
screams  and  shouts  of  his  schoolfellows. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

"  FAR  you  well  ! "  said  Allen,  solemnly,  to  the  fallen  chair. 

They  had  all  gathered  up  their  books  and  slates,  and 
hats  and  bonnets,  and  started  off  for  their  several  homes. 
Those  who  went  the  same  way  with  Brinkly  listened  with 
respectful  attention  as  he  talked  with  Allen  on  the  way, 


THE   GOOSEPOND   SCHOOL. 


39 


and  showed  how  bitterly  he  had  suffered  from  the  cruelty 
of  this  man.  They  had  already  lost  their  resentment  at 
the  dishonor  of  that  monarch's  royalty,  and  were  evidently 
regarding  Brinkly  with  the  devotion  with  which  mankind 
always  regards  rebels  who  are  successful.  Each  one  strove 
to  get  the  nearest  him  as  he  walked.  One  little  fellow, 
Abel  Kitchens  by  name,  after  trying  several  times  to  slip 
in  by  his  side,  got  ahead,  and  walked  backward  as  he 
looked  at  Brinkly  and  listened.  He  was  so  far  gone  under 
the  old  regime  that  he  felt  no  relief  from  what  had  hap 
pened.  Evidently  he  had  not  understood  anything  at  all 
about  it.  He  seemed  to  be  trying  to  do  so,  and  to  make 
out  for  certain  whether  that  was  Brinkly  or  not.  The 
voice  of  those  young  republicans,  had  Brinkly  been  ambi 
tious,  would  have  made  him  dictator  of  the  Goosepond. 
Even  Allen  felt  a  consideration  for  Brinkly  which  was  alto 
gether  new.  He  had  always  expected  that  in  time  he 
would  resist  the  master,  but  he  did  not  dream  of  the  chiv 
alrous  spirit  of  the  lad,  nor  that  the  resistance  when  it 
should  come  would  be  so  vehement  and  triumphant.  He 
had  always  regarded  Brinkly  as  his  inferior ;  he  was  now 
quite  satisfied  to  consider  him  as  no  more  than  his  equal. 
How  we  all,  brave  men  and  cowards,  do  honor  the  brave  ! 

But  Brinkly  was  not  ambitious  or  vain ;  he  felt  no 
triumph  in  his  victory.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  sad.  He 
said  to  Allen  that  he  wished  he  could  have  stood  it  a  little 
longer. 

"Name  o'  God,  Brinkly  Glisson,  what  for  ?  It  is  the 
astonishenist  thing  I  ever  heerd  of,  for  you  to  be  sorry  for 
maulin'  a  rascal  who  beat  you  like  a  dog,  and  that  for 
nothin'.  What  for,  I  say  again  ?  " 

"  On  mother's  account." 

Allen  stopped — they  had  gotten  to  the  road  that  turned 
off  to  his  home. 


4o 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


"  You  tell  your  mother  that  when  she  knows  as  much 
about  the  villion  as  I  do,  she  will  be  proud  of  you  for 
maulin'  him.  Look  here,  Brinkly,  I  promised  him  I 
wouldn't  tell  on  him  tell  he  had  collected  his  schoolin'  ac 
count  and  was  off.  But  you  tell  your  mother  that  if  she 
gets  hurt  with  you  for  thrashin'  him,  she  will  get  worse 
hurt  with  herself  when  she  knows  what  I  do." 

Saying  this,  Allen  shook  hands  with  him  and  the  others, 
and  went  off,  merrily  singing  "Jerusalem,  my  happy 
home."  Soon  all  the  rest  had  diverged  by  by-roads  to 
their  own  homes,  and  Brinkly  pursued  his  way  alone. 

It  was  about  twelve  o'clock  when  he  reached  home. 
The  widow's  house  was  a  single  log-tenement,  with  a  small 
shed-room  behind.  A  kitchen,  a  meat-house,  a  dairy,  a  crib 
with  two  stalls  in  the  rear — one  for  the  horse,  the  other  for 
the  cow — were  the  out-buildings.  Homely  and  poor  as  this 
little  homestead  was,  it  wore  an  air  of  much  neatness  and 
comfort.  The  yard  looked  clean ;  the  floors  of  both  man 
sion  and  kitchen  were  clean,  and  the  little  dairy  looked  as 
if  it  knew  it  was  clean,  but  that  was  nothing  new  or 
strange.  Several  large  rose-bushes  stood  on  either  side  of 
the  little  gate,  ranged  along  the  yard-paling.  Two  rows  of 
pinks  and  narcissus  hedged  the  walk  from  the  gate  to  the 
door,  where,  on  blocks  of  oak,  rested  two  boxes  of  gera 
nium. 

The  widow  was  in  the  act  of  sitting  down  to  her  dinner, 
when,  hearing  the  gate  open  and  shut,  she  advanced  to 
the  door  to  see  who  might  be  there.  Slowly  and  sadly 
Brinkly  advanced  to  the  door. 

"  Lord  have  mercy  upon  my  soul  and  body,  Brinkly, 
what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  and  what  have  you  been  a 
doing,  and  what  made  you  come  from  the  schoolhouse  this 
time  o'  day  ?  "  was  the  greeting  he  met. 
^  "  Don't  be  scared,  mother ;  it  isn't  much  that's  the  mat- 


THE  GOOSEPOND   SCHOOL.  4I 

ter  with  me.  Let  us  sit  down  by  the  fire  here,  and  I'll  tell 
you  all  about  it." 

They  sat  down,  and  the  mother  looked  upon  the  son, 
and  the  son  upon  the  mother. 

"  I  was  afraid  it  would  come  to  it,  mother.  God 
knows  how  I  have  tried  to  keep  from  doing  what  I  have 
had  to  do  at  last." 

"  Brinkly,  have  you  been  and  gone  and  fought  with  Mr. 
Meadows  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mother." 

"  And  so  ruined  yourself,  and  me  too." 

"  I  hope  not,  mother." 

"  Yes,  here  have  I  worked  and  denied  myself,  day  and 
night  I  have  pinched  to  give  you  a  ejecation,  and  this  is 
the  way  you  pay  me  for  it." 

"  Mother,  do  listen  to  me  before  you  cry  and  fret  any 
more,  and  I  believe  you  will  think  I  have  not  done  wrong. 
Please,  mother,  listen  to  me,"  he  entreated,  as  she  con 
tinued  to  weep,  and  rocked  herself,  in  order,  as  it  seemed, 
to  give  encouragement  and  keep  time  to  her  weeping.  She 
wept  and  rocked.  Brinkly  turned  from  her  and  seemed 
doggedly  hopeless. 

"  Say  on  what  you're  going  to  say — say  on  what  you're 
going  to  say.  If  you've  got  anything  to  say,  say  it." 

"  I  can't  tell  you  anything  while  you  keep  crying  so. 
Please  don't  cry,  mother ;  I  don't  believe  you  will  blame 
me  when  I  tell  you  what  I  have  been  through."  His 
manner  was  so  humble  and  beseeching  that  his  mother  sat 
still,  and,  in  a  less  fretful  tone,  again  bade  him  go  on. 

"  Mother,  as  I  said  before,  God  knows  that  I've  tried  to 
keep  from  it,  and  could  not.  You  don't  know  how  that 
man  has  treated  me." 

"  How  has  he  treated  you  ?  "  she  inquired,  looking  at 
her  son  for  the  first  time  since  she  had  been  sitting. 


42  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

"  You  were  so  anxious  for  me  to  learn,  and  I  was  so 
anxious  myself  to  learn,  that  I  have  never  told  you  of 
hardly  any  of  his  treatment.  Oh,  mother,  he  has  beat  me 
worse  than  anybody  ought  to  beat  the  meanest  dog.  He 
has  called  me  and  you  poor,  and  made  fun  of  us  because 
we  were  poor.  He  has  called  me  a  scoundrel,  a  beggar, 
a  fool.  When  I  told  him  that  you  wanted  me  to  quit 
jography,  he  said  you  was  a  fool  and  had  a  fool  for  a  son, 
and  that  he  had  no  doubt  that  my  father  was  a  fool  before 
me." 

The  widow  dried  her  face  with  her  handkerchief,  settled 
herself  in  her  chair,  and  said : 

"  When  he  said  them  things  he  told  a — what's  not  so ; 
I'll  say  it  if  he  is  schoolmarster."  And  she  looked  as  if 
she  were  aware  that  the  responsibility  of  that  bold  obser 
vation  was  large. 

"  He  said,"  continued  Brinkly,  "  that  I  should  study  it, 
and  if  I  didn't  git  the  lessons,  he'd  beat  me  as  long  as  he 
could  find  a  hickory  to  beat  me  with.  I  stood  it  all  be 
cause  it  was  my  only  chance  to  git  any  schoolin'.  But  I 
told  him  then — that  is,  when  he  called  you  a  fool,  and 
father  one,  too — that  it  wasn't  so,  and  that  he  ought  not  to 
say  so.  Well,  yisterday,  you  know  you  sent  me  by  Mr. 
Norris's  to  pay  back  the  meal  we  borrowed,  and  I  didn't 
get  to  the  schoolhouse  quite  in  time.  But  he  wasn't  more 
than  a  hundred  yards  ahead  of  me,  and  when  he  saw  me 
he  hurried  just  to  keep  me  from  being  in  time.  When  1 
told  him  how  you  had  sent  me  by  Mr.  Norris's,  he  only 
laughed  and  called  me  a  liar,  and  then — look  at  my  shoul 
der,  mother." 

He  took  off  his  coat,  unbuttoned  his  shirt,  and  exposed 
his  shoulder  and  back,  blackened  with  bruises. 

"  Oh,  my  son,  my  poor  son  ! "  was  all  she  could  say. 

She  had  not  known  a  tenth  of  the  cruelties  and  insult;} 


THE   GOOSEPOND    SCHOOL. 


43 


which  Brinkly  had  borne.  He  had  frequently  importuned 
her  to  let  him  quit  the  school.  But  she  supposed  that  it 
was  because  of  the  difficulties  of  learning  his  lessons  which 
got  for  him  an  occasional  punishment,  and  such  as  was  in 
cident  to  the  life  of  every  schoolboy,  bad  and  good,  idle 
and  industrious.  These  thoughts  combining  with  her  ar 
dent  desire  that  he  should  get  a  little  learning,  even  at 
the  risk  of  receiving  some  harsh  punishment,  made  her 
persist  in  keeping  him  there.  Seeing  her  anxiety,  and  to 
avoid  making  her  unhappy,  he  had  concealed  from  her  the 
greater  part  of  the  wrongs  that  he  had  suffered.  But  when 
she  heard  how  he  had  been  abused,  and  saw  the  stripes 
and  bruises  upon  his  body,  she  wept  sorely. 

"  Well,  mother,  I  stood  this  too,  but  last  night  I  couldn't 
sleep.  I  thought  about  all  he  had  said  and  all  he  had 
done  to  me,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  to  quit  him  anyhow. 
But  this  morning,  before  day,  I  thought  for  your  sake  I 
would  try  it  once  more.  So  I  got  up  and  studied  my  les 
son  here  and  all  the  way  to  the  schoolhouse ;  and  I  did 
know  it,  mother,  or  I  thought  I  did,  for  he  wouldn't  tell 
me  how  to  pronounce  the  words,  but  Allen  Thigpen  did, 
and  I  pronounced  them  just  like  Allen  told  me.  When  I 
told  him  that,  he  called  me  a  liar,  and  aftenvard  I  begged 
him  not  to  strike  me,  but  to  let  me  go  home.  But  he 
would  strike  me,  and  I  fought  him." 

"  And  you  done  right.  Oh,  my  son,  my  poor  Brinkly  ! 
Yes,  you  are  poor,  the  poo'r  son  of  a  poor  widow ;  but  I 
am  proud  that  you  had  the  sperrit  to  fight  when  you  are 
abused  and  insulted.  If  I'd  known  half  of  what  you  have 
had  to  bear,  you  should  have  quit  his  school  long  ago ; 
you  should,  Brinkly,  my  darling,  that  you  should.  But 
how  could  you  expect  to  fight  him  and  not  be  beat  to 
death  ?  Why  didn't  you  run  away  from  him  and  come  to 
me  ?  He  wouldn't  have  beat  you  so  where  I  was."  And 


44 


DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 


she  looked  as  if  she  felt  herself  to  be  quite  sufficient  for  the 
protection  of  her  young. 

"  Mother,  I  didn't  want  to  run ;  I  couldn't  run  from 
such  a  man  as  he  is.  Once  I  thought  I  would  take  my 
hat  and  books  and  come  away ;  but  I  could  not  do  that 
without  running,  and  I  couldn't  run;  you  wouldn't  want 
me  to  run,  would  you,  mother  ?  " 

The  widow  looked  puzzled. 

"No;  but  he  is  so  much  bigger  than  you,  that  it 
wouldn't  a  looked  exactly  like  you  was  a  coward;  and 
then  he  has  hurt  you  so  bad.  My  poor  Brinkly,  you  don't 
know  how  your  face  is  scratched." 

"  I  hurt  him  worse  than  he  hurt  me,  mother." 

"  What  ?  " 

"  I  hurt  him  worse  than  he  hurt  me ;  I  got  the  best 
of  it." 

"  Glory  ! "  shouted  Mrs.  Glisson. 

"  In  fact,  I  whipped  him." 

"Glory!   glory!" 

"  When  I  had  him  down—" 

"  Brinkly,  did  you  have  him  down,  my  son?  " 

"  Yes,  and  he  begged  me  to  spare  him." 

"  Glory  be  to — glory  be  to — but  you  didn't  do  it,  did 
you?" 

"  Yes,  mother,  as  soon  as  he  give  up  and  begged  me  to 
stop,  I  let  him  alone." 

"  I  wouldn't  a  done  it,  certin  shore  ! " 

"  Yes,  you  would,  mother ;  if  you  had  seen  how  he  was 
hurt,  and  how  bad  he  looked,  you  would  a  spared  him,  I 
know  you  would." 

"  Well,  maybe  I  might ;  I  suppose  it  was  right,  as  he 
was  a  man  grown,  and  schoolmarster  to  boot.  Maybe  it 
was  best — maybe  it  was  best — maybe  I  might  a  done  it 
too,  but  it  ain't  quite  certin." 


THE   GOOSEPOND   SCHOOL. 


45 


She  had  risen  from  the  chair  and  was  pacing  the  floor. 
This  new  view  of  Brinkly's  relation  to  his  tyrant  was  one 
on  which  she  required  time  for  reflection.  She  evidently 
felt,  however,  that  as  Brinkly  had  so  often  been  at  the  bot 
tom  in  the  combat,  now  when  he  had  risen  to  the  top 
there  was  no  great  harm  in  staying  there  a  little  longer. 
"  But  maybe  it  was  best ;  I  reckon  now  he  won't  be  quite 
so  brash  with  his  other  scholars." 

"  He  will  never  have  another  chance." 

"  What  ?  " 

"  Allen  has  found  out  all  about  him,  and  where  he  came 
from,  and  says  he's  a  man  of  bad  character.  He  begged 
Allen  not  to  say  anything  about  it  until  he  got  his  money 
and  could  git  away.  So  he  is  quit,  and  the  school  is 
broke  up." 

"  Glory  !  glory  !  hallelujah  ! "  shouted  again  and  sung 
the  mother. 

Let  her  shout  and  sing.  Sing  away  and  shout,  thou 
bereaved,  at  this  one  little  triumph  of  thine  only  beloved  ! 
Infinite  Justice  !  pardon  her  for  singing  and  shouting  now, 
when  her  only  child,  though  poor  and  an  orphan,  though 
bruised  and  torn,  seems  to  her  overflowing  eyes  grand  and 
beautiful,  as  if  he  were  a  royal  hero's  son,  and  the  inheritor 
of  his  crown. 

Among  the  comments  upon  the  career  of  Mr.  Israel 
Meadows  and  his  overthrow,  those  of  William  Williams, 
one  of  our  near  neighbors,  were  the  most  pronounced. 
The  wonder  with  him  was,  that  as  much  of  a  man  as  Allen 
Thigpen  seemed  to  be  had  not  put  the  end  to  such  atroci 
ties,  at  least  those  which  were  inflicted  upon  the  girls.  If 
it  had  been  William  Williams,  he — well,  the  fact  was,  he 
would  not  like  to  say  what  he  would  or  would  not  have 
done,  particularly  if  one  or  more  of  them  had  been  any- 


46  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

thing  to  him.  Shortly  afterward  a  school  nearer  to  us 
was  opened,  and,  conscious  of  the  need  of  something  more 
of  arithmetic  for  the  sake  of  an  ambitious  scheme  that  for 
some  time  past  had  been  lying  pleasantly  upon  his  breast, 
he  decided  to  attend  it  for  a  quarter  or  two.  His  experi 
ence  there,  and  in  other  scenes,  will  be  related  in  the  suc 
ceeding  tales  in  this  collection. 


HOW  MR.  BILL  WILLIAMS  TOOK  THE 
RESPONSIBILITY. 


"Our  honor  teacheth  us 
That  we  be  bold  in  every  enterprise." 


CHAPTER   I. 

WHEN  Josiah  Lorriby  came  into  our  neighborhood  to 
keep  a  school,  I  was  too  young  to  go  to  it  alone,  and  so 
William  Williams,  whose  way  lay  by  our  house,  proffered 
to  take  charge  of  me.  With  much  gratitude  this  was  ac 
cepted,  and  I  was  delivered  over  into  his  keeping. 

William  Williams  was  so  near  being  a  man  that  the  little 
boys  used  to  call  him  "  Mr.  Bill."  I  never  can  forget  the 
stout  homespun  dress-coat  which  he  used  to  wear,  with  the 
big  pockets  opening  horizontally  across  the  outer  side  of 
the  skirts.  Many  a  time,  when  I  was  fatigued  by  walking, 
or  the  road  was  wet  with  rains,  have  I  ridden  upon  his 
back,  my  hands  resting  upon  his  shoulders  and  my  feet 
standing  in  those  capacious  pockets.  Persons  who  have 
never  tried  that  way  of  traveling  have  no  just  idea,  I  will 
venture  to  say,  how  sweet  it  is.  Mr.  Bill  had  promised  to 
take  care  of  me,  and  he  kept  his  word. 

About  one  mile  and  a  half  distant  stood  the  schoolhouse. 

It  was  built  of  logs  and  covered  with  clapboards.     It  had 

one  door,  and  opposite  to  that  a  window.     It  stood  in  the 

corner  of  one  of  our  fields  (having  formerly  been  used  as 

4 


48  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

a  fodder-house),  on  the  brow  of  a  hill,  at  the  foot  of  which, 
overshadowed  by  oak  trees,  was  a  noble  spring  of  fresh 
water.  Our  way  led  us  by  this  spring.  Just  as  we  reached 
it,  Mr.  Bill  pointed  to  the  summit  and  said : 

"  Yonder  it  is,  squire." 

Mr.  Bill  frequently  called  me  squire,  partly  from  mere 
facetiousness,  and  partly  from  his  respect  for  my  father, 
who  was  a  judge  of  the  county  court. 

We  ascended  the  hill,  and  Mr.  Bill  led  me  into  the 
presence  of  the  genius  of  the  place. 

Mr.  Josiah  Lorriby  was  a  remarkable  man.  He  was  be 
low  the  middle  height,  but  squarely  built.  His  body  was 
good  enough,  but  his  other  parts  were  defective.  He  had 
a  low,  flat  head,  with  very  short  brown  hair  and  very  long 
ears.  His  arms  were  reasonably  long,  but  his  hands  and 
legs  were  disproportionately  short.  He  was  sitting  on  a 
split-bottom  chair,  on  one  side  of  the  fireplace.  Under  him, 
with  his  head  peering  out  between  the  rounds,  sitting  on 
his  hind  legs  and  standing  on  his  fore  legs,  was  a  small 
yellow  dog,  without  tail  or  ears.  This  dog's  name  was 
Rum.  On  the  side  of  the  hearth,  in  another  split-bottom, 
sat  a  tall,  raw-boned  woman  with  the  reddest  eyes  I  have 
ever  seen.  This  was  Mrs.  Mehetabel,  Mr.  Lorriby's 
wife.  She  had  ridden  to  the  school  on  a  small,  aged  mare, 
perfectly  white  and  totally  blind.  Her  name  was  Kate. 

When  I  had  surveyed  these  four  personages — this  satyr  of 
a  man,  this  tailless  dog,  this  red-eyed  woman,  and  this  blind 
old  mare — a  sense  of  fear  and  helplessness  came  over  me, 
such  as  I  had  never  felt  before,  and  have  never  felt  since. 
I  looked  at  Mr.  Bill  Williams,  but  he  was  observing  some 
body  else,  and  did  not  notice  me.  My  eyes  passed  from 
one  to  another  of  the  objects  of  my  dread ;  but  they  be 
came  finally  fastened  upon  the  dog.  His  eyes  also  had 
wandered,  but  only  with  vague  curiosity,  around  upon  all 


MR.    BILL  WILLIAMS. 


49 


the  pupils,  until  they  became  fixed  upon  me.  We  gazed 
at  each  other  several  moments.  Though  he  sat  still,  and  I 
sat  still,  it  seemed  to  me  that  we  were  drawing  continually 
nearer  to  each  other.  Suddenly  I  lifted  up  my  voice  and 
screamed  with  all  my  might.  It  was  so  sudden  and  sharp 
that  everybody  except  the  woman  started.  She  indiffer 
ently  pointed  to  the  dog.  Her  husband  arose,  came  to 
me,  and  in  soothing  tones  asked  what  was  the  matter. 

"  I  am  scared! "  I  answered,  as  loud  as  I  could  speak. 

"  Scared  of  what,  my  little  man?  of  the  dog?  " 

"  I  am  scared  of  ALL  of  you." 

He  laughed  with  good-humor,  bade  me  not  be  afraid, 
called  up  Rum,  talked  to  us  both,  enjoined  upon  us  to  be 
friends,  and  prophesied  that  we  would  be  in  less  than  no 
time.  The  little  creature  became  cordial  at  once,  reared 
his  fore-feet  upon  his  master,  took  them  down,  reared  them 
upon  me,  and,  in  the  absence  of  a  tail  to  wag,  twisted  his 
hinder  parts  in  violent  assurance  that  if  I  should  say  the 
word  we  were  friends  already.  Such  kindness,  and  s<5  un 
expected,  dissolved  my  apprehensions.  I  was  in  a  condition 
to  accept  terms  far  less  liberal.  Everybody  laughed,  and 
Rum,  who  could  do  nothing  better  in  that  line,  ran  about 
and  barked  as  joyously  as  any  dog  with  a  tail  could  have 
done.  In  the  afternoon,  when  school  was  dismissed,  I 
invited  him  to  go  home  with  me  ;  but  he,  waiting  as  I  sup 
pose  for  a  more  intimate  acquaintance,  declined. 


CHAPTER   II. 

IT  was  delightful  to  consider  how  auspicious  a  beginning 
I  had  made.  Other  little  boys  profited  by  it.  Mr.  Lor- 
riby  had  no  desire  to  lose  any  of  his  scholars,  and  we 


50  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

all  were  disposed  to  take  as  much  advantage  as  possible 
of  his  apprehension,  however  unfounded,  that  on  account 
of  our  excessive  timidity  our  parents  might  remove  us  from 
the  school.  We  knew  that  we  were  to  lose  nothing  by  be 
ing  on  friendly  terms  with  Rum.  The  dread  of  the  teach 
er's  wife  soon  passed  away.  She  had  but  little  to  say  and 
less  to  do.  Nobody  had  any  notion  of  any  reason  that  she 
had  for  coming  to  the  school.  At  first  she  occasionally 
heard  a  spelling-class  recite.  After  a  little  time  she  began 
to  come  much  less  often,  and  in  a  few  weeks  her  visits 
had  decreased  to  one  in  several  days.  Mrs.  Lorriby  seemed 
a  very  proud  woman,  for  she  not  only  had  little  to  say  to 
anybody,  but,  although  she  resided  only  a  mile  and  a  half 
from  the  schoolhouse,  she  never  walked,  but  invariably 
rode  old  Kate.  These  were  small  things,  yet  we  noticed 
them. 

Mr.  Lorriby  was  not  of  the  sort  of  schoolmasters  whom 
men  used  to  denominate  by  the  title  of  knock  down  and 
drag  out.  He  was  not  such  a  man  as  Israel  Meadows. 
But,  although  he  was  good-hearted  enough,  he  was  politic. 
Being  a  new-comer,  he  determined  to  manage  his  business 
with  due  regard  to  the  tastes,  the  wishes,  and  the  prejudices 
of  the  community  in  which  he  labored.  He  preferred  a 
mild  reign ;  but  it  was  said  he  could  easily  accommodate 
himself  to  those  who  required  a  vigorous  policy.  He  soon 
learned  that  the  latter  was  the  favorite  here.  People  soon 
complained  that  there  was  little  or  no  whipping.  Some, 
who  had  read  the  fable  of  the  frogs  who  desired  a  sovereign, 
were  heard  to  declare  that  Josiah  Lorriby  seemed  no  better 
than  "  Old  King  Log."  One  patron  spoke  of  taking  his 
children  home,  putting  the  boy  at  the  plow  and  the  girl  at 
the  spinning-wheel. 

Parents  in  those  days  loved  their  children,  as  well  as 
now ;  but  they  had  some  strange  ways  of  showing  their 


MR.    BILL   WILLIAMS.  gx 

love.  The  strangest  of  all  was  the  evident  satisfaction 
which  the  former  felt  when  the  latter  were  whipped  at 
school.  While  they  had  a  notion  that  education  was  a 
thing  desirable,  it  was  believed  that  the  impartation  of  it 
needed  to  be  conducted  in  mysterious  ways.  The  school- 
house  of  that  day  was,  in  a  manner,  a  cave  of  Trophonius, 
into  which  urchins  of  both  sexes  entered  amid  certain  in 
comprehensible  ceremonies,  and  were  everlastingly  subject 
and  used  to  be  whirled  about,  body  and  soul,  in  vortices 
of  confusion.  I  might  pursue  the  analogy  and  say  that, 
like  the  votaries  of  Trophonius,  they  were  not  wont  to 
smile  until  long  after  this  violent  rotatory  indoctrination ; 
but  rather  to  weep  and  lament,  unless  they  were  brave  like 
Apollonius,  or  big  like  Allen  Thigpen,  and  so  could  bully 
the  priest  to  dispense  with  corporal  rotation.  According 
to  these  notions,  the  principles  of  books,  if  expected  to 
stick,  must  be  beaten  with  rods  into  the  back.  Through 
this  ordeal  of  ceremonies  had  the  risen  generation  gone, 
and  through  the  same  they  honestly  believed  that  the 
present  generation  ought  to  go  and  must  go.  No  exception 
was  made  in  favor  of  genius.  Its  back  was  to  be  kept  as 
sore  as  stupidity's ;  for,  being  yoked  with  the  latter,  it  must 
take  the  blows,  the  oaths,  and  the  imprecations.  I  can 
account  for  these  things  in  no  other  way  than  by  supposing 
that  the  old  set  of  persons  had  come  out  of  the  old  system 
with  minds  so  bewildered  as  to  be  ever  afterward  incapa 
ble  of  thinking  upon  it  in  a  reasonable  manner.  They  had 
been  beaten  so  constantly  and  so  mysteriously  at  school 
that  they  seemed  to  entertain  a  grateful  affection  for  it 
ever  afterward.  It  was,  therefore,  with  feelings  of  satis 
faction,  sometimes  not  unmixed  with  innocent  gayety,  that 
they  were  wont  to  listen  to  their  children  when  they  com 
plained  of  the  thrashings  they  daily  received,  some  of 
which  would  be  wholly  unaccountable.  Indeed,  the  latter 


j2  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

sort  seemed  to  be  considered,  of  all  others,  the  most  salu 
tary.  When  the  punishment  was  graduated  by  the  offense, 
it  was  supporting  too  great  a  likeness  to  the  affairs  of  every 
day  life,  and  therefore  wanting  in  solemn  impressiveness. 
But  when  a  schoolmaster  for  no  accountable  reason  whipped 
a  boy,  and  so  set  his  mind  in  a  state  of  bewilderment  as  to 
what  could  be  the  matter,  and  led  him  into  vague  specu 
lations  upon  what  was  to  become  of  him  in  this  world,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  next — ah!  then  it  was  that  the  experi 
enced  felt  a  happiness  that  was  gently  ecstatic.  They  re 
curred  in  their  minds  to  their  own  school-time,  and  they 
concluded  that,  as  these  things  had  not  killed  them,  they 
must  have  done  them  good.  So  some  of  our  good  mothers 
in  Israel,  on  occasions  of  great  religious  excitement,  as  they 
bend  over  a  shrieking  sinner,  smile  in  serene  happiness  as 
they  fan  his  throbbing  temples,  and  fondly  encourage  him 
to  shriek  on.  Thinking  of  the  pit  from  which  they  were 
digged,  and  of  the  rock  upon  which  they  now  are  standing, 
they  shout  and  sing  and  fan,  and,  fanning  ever,  continue 
to  sing  and  shout. 


CHAPTER   III. 

WHEN  Mr.  Lorriby  had  sounded  the  depths  of  public 
sentiment,  he  became  a  new  man.  One  Monday  morning 
he  announced  that  he  was  going  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf, 
and  he  went  straightway  to  turning  it  over.  Before  night 
several  boys,  from  small  to  medium,  had  been  flogged. 
He  had  not  begun  on  the  girls,  except  in  one  instance. 
In  that  I  well  remember  the  surprise  I  felt  at  the  manner 
in  which  her  case  was  disposed  of.  Her  name  was  Susan 
Potter.  She  was  about  twelve  years  old,  and  well  grown. 
When  she  was  called  up,  inquiry  was  made  by  the  master 


MR.    BILL  WILLIAMS. 


53 


if  any  boy  present  was  willing  to  take  upon  himself  the 
punishment  which  must  otherwise  fall  upon  her.  After  a 
moment's  silence,  Seaborn  Byne,  a  boy  of  fourteen,  rose 
and  presented  himself.  He  was  good-tempered  and  fat, 
and  his  pants  and  round  jacket  fitted  him  closely.  He  ad 
vanced  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  was  going  to  do  what 
was  right,  with  no  thought  of  consequences.  Miss  Potter 
unconcernedly  went  to  her  seat. 

But  Seaborn  soon  evince4  that  he  was  dissatisfied  with 
a  bargain  that  was  so  wholly  without  consideration.  I 
believed  then,  and  I  believe  to  this  day,  that  but  for  his 
being  so  good  a  mark  he  would  have  received  fewer  stripes. 
But  his  round  fat  body  and  legs  stood  so  temptingly  before 
the  rod,  and  the  latter  fell  upon  good  flesh  so  entirely 
through  its  whole  length,  that  it  was  really  hard  to  stop. 
He  roared  with  pain  so  unexpectedly  severe,  and  violently 
rubbed  each  spot  of  recent  infliction.  When  it  was  over, 
he  came  to  his  seat  and  looked  at  Susan  Potter.  She 
seemed  to  feel  like  laughing.  He  got  no  sympathy  except 
from  a  source  which  he  despised ;  that  was  his  younger 
brother,  Joel.  Joel  was  weeping  in  secret. 

"  Shet  up  your  mouth,"  whispered  Seaborn  threateningly, 
and  Joel  shut  up,  Joel  did. 

Then  I  distinctly  heard  Seaborn  mutter  the  following 
words : 

"  Ef  I  ever  takes  another  for  her,  or  any  of  'em,  may  I 
be  dinged,  and  then  dug  up  and  dinged  over  again." 

I  have  no  doubt  that  he  kept  his  oath,  for  I  continued 
to  know  Seaborn  Byne  until  he  was  an  old  man,  and  I 
never  knew  a  person  who  persistently  held  that  vicarious 
system  of  school  punishment  in  deeper  disgust.  What  his 
ideas  were  about  being  "  dinged,"  and  about  that  operation 
being  repeated,  I  did  not  know;  but  I  supposed  it  was 
something  that,  if  possible,  would  better  be  avoided. 


54 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


Such  doings  as  these  made  a  great  change  in  the  feelings 
of  us  little  ones.  Yet  I  continued  to  run  the  crying 
schedule.  It  failed  at  last,  and  I  went  under. 

Mr.  Lorriby  laid  it  upon  me  remorselessly.  I  had  never 
dreamed  that  he  would  give  me  such  a  flogging — I,  who 
considered  myself,  as  everybody  else  considered  me,  a 
favorite.  Now  the  charm  was  gone — the  charm  of  security. 
It  made  me  very  sad.  I  lost  my  love  for  the  teacher.  I 
even  grew  cold  toward  Rum,  and  Rum  in  his  turn  grew 
cold  toward  me.  Not  that  we  got  into  open  hostilities. 
For,  saving  an  occasional  fretfulness,  Rum  was  a  good  fel 
low,  and  personally  I  had  liked  him.  But  then  he  was 
from  principle  a  thorough  Lorriby,  and  therefore  our  inti 
macy  must  stop,  and  did  stop. 

In  a  short  time  Mr.  Lorriby  had  gone  as  nearly  all  round 
the  school  as  it  was  prudent  to  go.  Every  boy  but  two 
had  received  his  portion,  some  once,  some  several  times. 
These  two  were  Mr.  Bill  Williams,  and  another  big  boy 
named  Jeremiah  Hobbes.  Every  girl  also  had  been  flogged, 
or  had  had  a  boy  flogged  for  her,  except  Betsy  Ann  Aery, 
the  belle  of  the  school.  She  was  a  light-haired,  blue-eyed, 
plump,  delicious-looking  girl,  fourteen  years  old.  Now  for 
Betsy  Ann,  as  it  was  known  to  everybody  about  the  school- 
house,  Mr.  Bill  Williams  had  a  partiality  which,  though 
not  avowed,  was  decided.  He  had  never  courted  her  in 
set  words,  but  he  had  observed  her  from  day  to  day,  and 
noticed  her  ripening  into  womanhood  with  constantly  in 
creasing  admiration.  He  was  scarcely  a  match  for  her 
even  if  they  both  had  been  in  condition  to  marry.  He 
knew  this  very  well.  But  considerations  of  this  sort  seldom 
do  a  young  man  any  good.  More  often  than  otherwise  they 
make  him  worse.  At  least  such  was  their  effect  upon  Mr. 
Bill.  The  greater  the  distance  between  him  and  Betsy 
Ann,  the  more  he  yearned  to  cross  it.  He  sat  in  school 


MR.    BILL  WILLIAMS.  55 

where  he  could  always  see  her,  and  oh,  how  he  eyed  her! 
Often  have  I  noticed  him  leaning  the  side  of  his  head  upon 
his  arms,  extended  on  the  desk  in  front  of  him,  and  look 
ing  at  her  with  a  countenance  which,  it  seemed  to  me, 
ought  to  make  some  impression.  Betsy  Ann  received  it 
all  as  if  it  were  no  more  than  she  was  entitled  to,  but 
showed  no  sign  whether  she  set  any  value  upon  the  pos 
session  or  not.  Mr.  Bill  hoped  she  did ;  the  rest  of  us  be 
lieved  she  did  not. 

Mr.  Bill  had  another  ambition,  which  was,  if  possible, 
even  higher  than  the  winning  of  Miss  Aery.  Having  almost 
extravagant  notions  of  the  greatness  of  Dukesborough,  and 
the  distinction  of  being  a  resident  within  it,  he  had  long  de 
sired  to  go  there  as  a  clerk  in  a  store.  He  had  made  repeated 
applications  to  be  taken  in  by  Messrs.  Bland  &  Jones,  and 
it  was  in  obedience  to  a  hint  from  these  gentlemen  that  he 
had  determined  to  take  a  term  of  finishing  off  at  the  school 
of  Mr.  Lorriby.  This  project  was  never  out  of  his  mind, 
even  in  moments  of  his  fondest  imaginings  about  Betsy 
Ann.  It  would  have  been  not  easy  to  say  which  he  loved 
the  best.  The  clerkship  seemed  to  become  nearer  and 
nearer  after  each  Saturday's  visit  to  town,  until  at  last  he 
had  a  distinct  offer  of  the  place.  The  salary  was  small, 
but  he  waived  that  consideration  in  view  of  the  exaltation 
of  the  office  and  the  greatness  of  living  in  Dukesborough. 
He  accepted,  to  enter  upon  his  duties  in  four  weeks,  when 
the  quarter  session  of  the  school  would  expire. 

The  dignified  ways  of  Mr.  Bill  after  this  made  consider 
able  impression  upon  all  the  school.  Even  Betsy  Ann 
condescended  to  turn  her  head  oftener  in  the  direction 
where  he  happened  to  be,  and  he  was  inclined  to  indulge  in 
the  hope  that  the  possession  of  one  dear  object  would  draw 
the  other  along  with  it.  At  least  he  felt  that,  if  he  should 
lose  the  latter,  the  former  would  be  the  highest  consolation 


56  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

that  he  could  ask.  The  news  of  the  distinguished  honor 
that  had  been  conferred  upon  him  reached  the  heads  of 
the  school  early  on  the  Monday  following  the  eventful 
Saturday  when  the  business  was  done.  I  say  heads,  for 
of  late  Mrs.  Mehetable  and  old  Kate  came  almost  every 
day.  Mrs.  Lorriby  received  the  announcement  without 
emotion.  Mr.  Lorriby,  on  the  other  hand,  in  spite  of  the 
prospect  of  losing  a  scholar,  was  almost  extravagant  in  his 
congratulations. 

"  It  was  a  honor  to  the  whole  school,"  he  said.  "  I  feel 
it  myself.  Sich  it  war  under  all  the  circumstances.  It 
was  obleeged  to  be,  and  as  it  war,  I  feels  it  myself." 

Seaborn  Byne  heard  this  speech.  Immediately  after 
ward  he  turned  to  me  and  whispered  the  following  com 
ment: 

"  He  be  dinged!   the  desateful  old  son-of-a-gun!" 


CHAPTER   IV. 

IT  was  the  unanimous  opinion  among  Mr.  Lorriby's  pu 
pils  that  he  was  grossly  inconsistent  with  himself :  that  he 
ought  to  have  begun  with  the  rigid  policy  at  first,  or  have 
held  to  the  mild.  Seaborn  Byne  was  not  exactly  the  head, 
but  he  was  certainly  the  orator,  of  a  revolutionary  party. 
Not  on  his  own  account ;  for  he  had  never  yet,  except  as 
the  voluntary  substitute  of  Miss  Susan  Potter,  felt  upon 
his  own  body  the  effects  of  the  change  of  discipline. 
Nor  did  he  seem  to  have  any  apprehensions  on  that  score. 
He  even  went  so  far  as  to  say  to  Mr.  Bill  Williams,  who 
had  playfully  suggested  the  bare  idea  of  such  a  thing,  that 
ef  old  Joe  Lorriby  raised  his  old  pole  on  him,  he  would 
put  his  lizzard  (as  Seaborn  facetiously  called  his  knife)  into 


MR.    BILL  WILLIAMS. 


57 


his  paunch.  He  always  carried  a  very  big  knife,  with 
which  he  would  frequently  stab  imaginary  Lorribys  in  the 
persons  of  saplings  and  pumpkins,  and  even  the  air  itself. 
This  threat  had  made  his  brother  Joel  extremely  unhappy. 
His  little  heart  was  bowed  down  with  the  never-resting  fear 
that  Seaborn  was  destined  to  commit  the  crime  of  murder 
upon  the  body  of  Mr.  Lorriby.  On  the  other  hand,  Sea 
born  was  constantly  vexed  by  the  sight  of  the  scores  of 
floggings  which  Joel  received.  Poor  Joel  had  somehow  in 
the  beginning  of  his  studies  gotten  upon  the  wrong  road, 
and,  as  nobody  ever  brought  him  back  to  the  starting-point, 
he  was  destined,  it  seemed,  to  wander  about  lost  evermore. 
The  more  floggings  he  got,  the  more  hopeless  and  wild 
were  his  efforts  at  extrication.  It  was  unfortunate  for  him 
that  his  brother  took  any  interest  in  his  condition.  Sea 
born  had  great  contempt  for  him,  yet  his  brother's  heart 
would  not  allow  itself  to  feel  no  concern.  That  concern 
manifested  itself  in  endeavoring  to  teach  Joel  himself  out 
of  school,  and  in  flogging  him  by  way  of  preventing  Joel's 
having  to  submit  to  that  disgrace  at  the  hands  of  the  mas 
ter.  So  eager  was  Seaborn  in  this  brotherly  design,  and  so 
indocile  was  Joel,  that  for  every  flogging  which  the  latter 
received  from  the  master  he  got  from  two  to  three  from 
Seaborn. 

However,  the  inflictions  which  Seaborn  made,  strictly 
speaking,  could  not  be  called  floggings.  Joel,  among  his 
other  infirmities,  had  that  of  being  unable  to  take  care  of 
his  spelling-books.  He  had  torn  to  pieces  so  many  that 
his  mother  had  obtained  a  paddle  and  pasted  on  both  sides 
of  it  as  many  words  as  could  be  crowded  there.  Mrs. 
Byne,  who  was  a  woman  of  decision,  had  been  heard  to 
say  that  she  meant  to  head  him  at  this  destructive  business, 
and  now  she  believed  that  she  had  done  it.  But  this  in 
strument  was  made  to  subserve  a  double  purpose  with  Joel. 


58  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES.  , 

It  was  at  once  the  object,  and  in  his  brother's  hands  the 
stimulus,  of  his  little  ambition.  Among  all  these  evils,  flog 
gings  from  Mr.  Lorriby  and  paddlings  from  Seaborn,  and 
the  abiding  apprehension  that  the  former  was  destined  to 
be  murdered  by  the  latter,  Joel  Byne's  was  a  case  to  be 
pitied. 

"  It  ar  a  disgrace,"  said  Mr.  Bill  to  me  one  morning  as 
we  were  going  to  school,  "and  I  wish  Mr.  Larrabee 
knowed  it.  Between  him  and  Sebe,  that  little  innocent 
individiel  is  bent  on  bein'  useded  up  bodaciously.  j 
Whippin's  from  Mr.  Larrabee  and  paddlin's  from  Sebe! 
That  ar  the  ontimeliest  paddle  that  ever  /seen.  He  have 
to  try  to  larn  his  paddle,  and  when  he  can't  larn  it,  Sebe 
he  take  his  paddle,  fling  down  Joel,  and  paddle  him  with 
his  paddle.  In  all  my  experence,  I  has  not  seed  jest  sich 
a  case." 

The  road  on  which  the  Bynes  came  to  school  met  ours 
a  few  rods  from  the  spring.  We  were  now  there,  and  Mr. 
Bill  had  scarcely  finished  this  speech  when  we  heard  behind 
us  the  screams  of  a  child.  • 

"  Thar  it  is  agin,"  said  Mr.  Bill.  "At  it  good  and  soon. 
It  do  beat  everything  in  this  blessed  and  ontimely  world. 
If  it  don't,  ding  me!" 

We  looked  behind  us.  Here  came  Joel  at  full  speed, 
screaming  with  all  his  might,  hatless,  his  paddle  in  one 
hand  and  his  dinner-bucket,  without  cover,  hanging  from 
the  other.  Twenty  yards  behind  him  ran  Seaborn,  who 
had  been  delayed  by  having  to  stop  in  order  to  pick  up 
Joel's  hat  and  the  bucket-cover.  Just  before  reaching  the 
spring,  the  fugitive  was  overtaken  and  knocked  down. 
Seaborn  then  getting  upon  him  and  fastening  his  arms  with 
his  own  knees,  seized  the  paddle  and  exclaimed : 

"Now,  you  rascal!  spell  that  word  agin,  sir.  Ef  you 
don't,  I'll  paddle  you  into  a  pancake.  Spell  '  Cnuifix]  sir." 


MR.    BILL   WILLIAMS. 


59 


Joel  attempted  to  obey. 

"S  agin,  you  little  devil!  S-i,  si!  Ding  my  skin  ef  you 
sha'n't  larn  it,  or  I'll  paddle  you  as  long  as  thar's  poplars 
to  make  paddles  outen." 

And  he  turned  Joel  over  and  made  him  ready. 

"Look  a-here,  Sebe!"  interposed  Mr.  Bill;  "fun's  fun, 
but  too  much  is  too  much." 

Now  what  these  words  were  preliminary  to,  there  was  no 
opportunity  of  ascertaining ;  for  just  then  Mr.  Josiah  Lor- 
riby,  who  had  diverged  from  his  own  way  in  order  to  drink 
at  the  spring,  presented  himself. 

"  What  air  you  about  thar,  Sebion  Byne  ?  " 

Seaborn  arose,  and  though  he  considered  his  conduct 
not  only  justifiable,  but  praiseworthy,  he  looked  a  little 
crestfallen. 

"Ah,  indeed!      You're  the  assistant  teacher,  air  you? 

Interfering  with  my  business,  and  my  rights,  and  my  duties, 

and  my — hem!      Let  us  all  go  to  the  schoolhouse  now. 

Mr.  Byne  will  manage  business  hereafter.     I — as  for  me, 

.  I  ain't  nowhar  now.     Come,  Mr.  Byne,  let's  go  to  school." 

Mr.  Lorriby  and  Seaborn  went  on,  side  by  side.  Mr. 
Bill  looked  as  if  he  were  highly  gratified. 

"  Ef  he  don't  git  it  now,  he  never  will." 

Alas  for  Joel!  Delivered  from  Seaborn,  he  was  yet 
more  miserable  than  before,  and  he  forgot  his  own  griefs 
in  his  pity  for  the  impending  fate  of  Mr.  Lorriby,  and  his 
apprehension  for  the  ultimate  consequence  of  this  day's 
work  to  his  brother.  He  pulled  me  a  little  behind  Mr.  Bill, 
and  tremblingly  whispered : 

"Poor  Mr.  Lorriby!  Do  you  reckon  they'll  hang 
Seaby,  Phil  ?  " 

"  What  for?  "  I  asked. 

"  For  killin'  Mr.  Larrabee." 

I  answered  that  I  hoped  not. 


60  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

"  Oh,  Phil!  Seaby  have  sich  a  big  knife!  An'  he  have 
stob  more  saplin's!  and  more  punkins!  and  more  water- 
millions!  and  more  mushmillions !  And  he  have  even 
stob  our  old  big  yaller  cat!  And  he  have  call  every  one 
of  'em  Larrabee.  And  it's  my  'pinion  that  ef  it  warn't 
for  my  paddle,  he  would  a  stob  me  befo'  now.  You  see, 
Phil,  paddlin'  me  sorter  cools  and  swages  him  down  a 
leetle  bit,  and  I  always  feels  some  better  arfter  he's  been 
of  a-paddlin'  o'  me,  because  then  I  know  that  he  hain't 
stob  me,  nor  hain't  a  gwine  to  do  it  that  day.  Oh,  Seaby 
ar  a  tremenduous  boy,  and  he  ar  goirf  to  stob  Mr.  Larra 
bee  this  blessed  day,  and  then  get  hung." 

As  we  neared  the  house  we  saw  old  Kate  at  the  usual 
stand,  and  we  knew  that  Mrs.  Lorriby  was  at  hand.  She 
met  her  husband  at  the  door,  and  they  had  some  whisper 
ing  together,  of  which  the  case  of  Seaborn  was  evidently 
the  subject.  Joel  begged  me  to  stay  with  him  outside  until 
the  horrible  thing  was  over.  We  stopped  and  peeped  in 
between  the  logs.  We  had  not  to  wait  long.  Mr.  Lorriby, 
his  mate  standing  by  his  side,  at  once  began  to  lay  on,  and 
Seaborn  to  roar.  The  laying-on  and  the  roaring  continued 
until  the  master  was  satisfied.  When  all  was  over,  I  looked 
into  Joel's  face.  It  was  radiant  with  smiles.  I  never  have 
seen  greater  happiness  upon  the  countenance  of  childhood. 
Happy  little  fellow!  Seaborn  would  not  be  hung.  That 
illusion  was  gone.  He  hugged  his  paddle  to  his  breast, 
and,  with  a  gait  approaching  the  triumphant,  walked  into 
the  house. 

CHAPTER   V. 

HAVING  broken  the  ice  upon  Seaborn,  Mr.  Lorriby  went 
into  the  sport  of  flogging  him  whenever  he  felt  like  it. 
Seaborn 's  revolutionary  sentiments  grew  deeper  and  stronger 


MR.    BILL   WILLIAMS.  61 

constantly.  But  he  was  now,  of  course,  hopeless  of  ac 
complishing  any  results  for  himself,  and  he  knew  that  the 
only  chance  was  to  enlist  Jeremiah  Hobbes,  or  Mr.  Bill 
Williams,  and  make  him  leader  in  the  enterprise.  Very 
soon,  however,  one  of  these  chances  was  lost.  Hobbes 
received  and  accepted  an  offer  to  become  an  overseer  on  a 
plantation,  and  Seaborn's  hope  was  now  fixed  upon  Mr.  Bill 
alone.  That  also  was  destined  soon  to  be  lost  by  the  latter's 
prospective  clerkship.  Besides,  Mr.  Bill  never  having  re 
ceived  and  being  not  likely  to  receive  any  provocation 
from  Mr.  Lorriby,  the  prospect  of  making  anything  out  of 
him  was  gloomy  enough.  In  vain  Seaborn  raised  in 
nuendoes  concerning  his  pluck.  In  vain  he  tried  other 
expedients,  even  secretly  drawing  on  Mr.  Bill's  slate  a  pic 
ture  of  a  very  little  man  flogging  a  very  big  boy,  and 
writing  as  well  as  he  could  the  name  of  Mr.  Lorriby  near 
the  former  and  that  of  Mr.  Bill  near  the  latter.  Seaborn 
could  not  disguise  himself ;  and  Mr.  Bill,  when  he  saw  the 
pictures,  informed  the  artist  that  if  he  did  not  mind  what 
he  was  about  he  would  get  a  worse  beating  than  ever  Joe 
Larrabee  gave  him.  Seaborn  had  but  one  hope  left,  but 
that  involved  some  little  delicacy,  and  could  be  managed 
only  by  its  own  circumstances.  It  might  do,  and  it 
might  not  do.  If  he  had  been  accustomed  to  asking 
special  divine  interpositions,  he  would  have  prayed  that,  if 
anything  was  to  be  made  out  of  this,  it  might  be  before 
Mr.  Bill  should  leave.  Sure  enough,  it  did  come.  Just 
one  week  before  the  quarter  was  out  it  came.  But  I  must 
premise  the  narration  of  this  great  event  with  a  few  words. 
Between  Mrs.  Lorriby  and  Miss  Betsy  Ann  Aery  the  re 
lations  were  not  very  agreeable.  Among  other  things  which 
were  the  cause  of  this  were  the  unwarrantable  liberties 
which  Miss  Aery  sometimes  took  with  Kate,  Mrs.  Lorriby's 
mare.  Betsy  Ann,  in  spite  of  all  dangers  (not  the  least  of 


62  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

which  was  that  of  breaking  her  own  neck),  would  treat 
herself  to  an  occasional  ride  whenever  circumstances  al 
lowed.  One  day  at  play-time,  when  Mrs.  Lorriby  was  out 
upon  one  of  her  walks,  Betsy  Ann  hopped  upon  the  mare, 
and  bantered  me  for  a  race  to  the  spring  and  back.  I  ac 
cepted.  We  set  out.  I  beat  old  Kate  on  the  return,  be 
cause  she  stumbled  and  fell.  A  great  laugh  was  raised, 
but  we  were  detected  by  Mrs.  Lorriby.  Passing  me,  she 
went  up  to  Betsy  Ann,  and  thus  spoke : 

"  Betsy  Ann  Acree,  libities  is  libities,  and  horses  is 
horses,  which  is,  as  I  mean  to  say,  mars  is  mars.  I  have 
ast  you  not  to  ride  this  mar,  and  which  she  was  give  to  me 
by  my  parrent  father,  and  which  she  have  not  been  rid, 
no,  not  by  Josiah  Lorribee  hisself,  and  which  I  have  said 
I  do  not  desires  she  shall  be  sp'ilt  in  her  gaits,  and  which  I 
wants  and  desires  you  will  not  git  upon  the  back  of  that 
mar  nary  'nother  time." 

Betsy  Ann  had  heretofore  escaped  correction  for  any  of 
her  shortcomings,  although  they  were  not  few.  She  was 
fond  of  mischief,  and  no  more  afraid  of  Mr.  Lorriby  than 
Mr.  Bill  Williams  was.  Indeed,  she  considered  herself  to 
be  a  woman,  and  she  had  been  heard  to  say  that  a  whip 
ping  was  something  which  she  would  take  from  nobody. 
Mr.  Lorriby  smiled  at  her  mischievous  tricks,  but  Mrs. 
Lorriby  frowned.  These  ladies  came  in  time  to  dislike 
each  other  more  and  more.  The  younger,  when  in  her 
frolics,  frequently  noticed  the  eHer  give  her  husband  a 
look  which  was  expressive  of  much  meaning.  Seaborn 
had  also  noticed  this,  and  the  worse  Miss  Aery  grew  the 
oftener  Mrs.  Lorriby  came  to  the  school.  Seaborn  had 
pondered  so  much  that  he  at  last  made  a  profound  discov 
ery.  He  had  come  to  believe  fully,  and  in  this  he  was 
right,  that  the  purpose  of  the  female  Lorriby  in  coming  at 
all  was  to  protect  the  male.  A  bright  thought !  He 


MR.    BILL   WILLIAMS.  63 

communicated  it  to  Miss  Aery,  and  slyly  hinted  several 
times  that  he  believed  she  was  afraid  of  Old  Red  Eye,  as 
he  denominated  the  master's  wife.  Miss  Aery  indignantly 
repelled  every  such  insinuation,  and  became  only  the 
bolder  in  what  she  said  and  what  she  did.  Seaborn  knew 
that  the  Lorribys  were  well  aware  of  Mr.  Bill's  preference 
for  the  girl,  and  he  intensely  enjoyed  her  temerity.  But  it 
was  hard  to  satisfy  him  that  she  was  not  afraid  of  Old  Red 
Eye.  If  Old  Red  Eye  had  not  been  there,  Betsy  Ann 
would  have  done  so  and  so.  The  reason  why  she  did  not 
do  so  and  so,  was  because  Old  Red  Eye  was  about.  Alas 
for  human  "nature  ! — male  and  female.  Betsy  Ann  went 
on  and  on,  until  she  was  brought  to  a  halt.  The  occasion 
was  thus : 

There  was  in  the  school  a  boy  of  about  my  own  size, 
and  a  year  or  two  older,  whose  name  was  Martin  Granger. 
He  was  a  pitiful-looking  creature — whined  when  he  spoke, 
and  was  frequently  in  quarrels,  not  only  with  the  boys,  but 
with  the  girls.  He  was  suspected  of  playing  the  part  of  spy 
and  informer  to  the  Lorribys,  both  of  whom  treated  him 
with  more  consideration  than  any  other  pupil,  except  Mr.  Bill 
Williams.  Betsy  Ann  cordially  disliked  him,  and  she  hon 
ored  myself  by  calling  me  her  favorite  in  the  whole  school. 

Now  Martin  and  I  got  ourselves  very  unexpectedly  into 
a  fight.  I  had  divided  my  molasses  with  him  at  dinner 
time  for  weeks  and  weeks.  A  few  of  the  pupils,  whose 
parents  could  afford  to  have  that  luxury,  were  accustomed 
to  carry  it  to  school  in  phials.  I  usually  ate  my  part  after 
boring  a  hole  in  my  biscuit  and  then  filling  it  up.  I  have 
often  wished  since  I  have  been  grown  that  I  could  relish 
that  preparation  as  I  relished  it  when  a  boy.  In  all  my 
observations  I  have  never  known  a  person  of  any  de 
scription  who  was  as  fond  of  molasses  as  Martin  was.  It 
did  me  good  to  see  him  eat  it.  He  never  brought  any 
5 


64  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

himself,  but  he  used  to  hint,  in  his  whining  way,  that  the 
time  was  not  distant  when  his  father  would  have  a  whole 
kegful,  and  when  he  should  bring  it  to  school  in  his 
mother's  big  snuff-bottle.  Although  I  was  not  sanguine  of 
the  realization  of  this  prospect,  yet  I  had  not  on  that  ac 
count  become  tired  of  furnishing  him.  I  only  grew  weary 
of  his  presence  while  at  my  dinner,  and  I  availed  myself  of 
a  trifling  dispute  one  day  to  shut  down  upon  him.  I  not 
only  did  not  invite  him  to  partake  of  my  molasses,  but  I 
rejected  his  spontaneous  proposition  to  that  effect.  He 
had  been  dividing  it  with  me  so  long  that  I  believe  he 
thought  my  right  to  cut  him  off  now  was  estopped.  He 
watched  me  as  I  bored  my  holes  and  poured  in  and  ate, 
and  even  wasted  the  precious  fluid.  I  could  not  consume 
it  all.  When  I  had  finished  eating,  I  put  water  into  the 
phial  and  made  what  we  called  "beverage."  I  would 
drink  a  little,  and  then  shake  it  and  hold  it  up  before  me. 
The  golden  bubbles  shone  gloriously  in  the  sunlight.  I 
had  not  said  a  word  to  Martin  during  these  interesting  op 
erations,  nor  even  looked  toward  him.  But  I  knew  that 
his  eyes  were  upon  me  and  the  phial.  Just  as  I  swallowed 
the  last  drop,  his  full  heart  could  bear  no  more,  and  he 
uttered  a  cry  of  pain.  I  turned  to  him  and  asked  him 
what  was  the  matter.  The  question  seemed  to  be  consid 
ered  as  adding  insult  to  injustice. 

"  Corn  deternally  trive  your  devilish  hide,"  he  answered, 
and  gave  me  the  full  benefit  of  his  clinched  fist  upon  my 
stomach.  He  was  afterward  heard  to  say  that  "  thar  was 
the  place  whar  he  wanted  to  hit  fust."  We  closed, 
scratched,  pulled  hair,  and  otherwise  struggled  until  we 
were  separated.  Martin  went  immediately  to  Mr.  Lorriby, 
gave  his  version  of  the  brawl,  and,  just  as  the  school  was 
to  be  dismissed  for  the  day,  I  was  called  up  and  flogged 
without  inquiry  and  without  explanation. 


MR.    BILL  WILLIAMS.  65 

Betsy  Ann  had  seen  the  fight.  When  I  came  to  my 
seat,  crying  bitterly,  her  indignation  could  not  contain 
itself. 

"  Mr.  Larribee,"  she  said,  her  cheeks  growing  redder, 
"  you  have  whipped  that  boy  for  nothing." 

With  all  her  pluck  she  had  never  gone  so  far  as  this. 
Mr.  Lorriby  turned  pale  and  looked  at  his  wife.  Her  red 
eyes  glistened  with  fire.  He  understood  'it,  and  said  to 
Betsy  Ann,  in  a  hesitating  tone : 

"  You  had  better  keep  your  advice  to  yourself." 

"  I  did  not  give  you  any  advice.  I  just  said  you 
whipped  that  boy  for  nothing,  and  I  said  the  truth." 

"Ain't  that  advice,  madam?  " 

"  I  am  no  madam,  I  thank  you,  sir ;  and  if  that's  ad 
vice—" 

"  Shet  up  your  mouth,  Betsy  Ann  Aery." 

"  Yes,  SIR,"  said  Betsy  Ann,  very  loud,  and  she  fastened 
her  pretty  pouting  lips  together,  elevated  her  head,  and 
seemed  amusedly  awaiting  further  orders. 

The  female  Lorriby  here  rose,  went  to  her  husband,  and 
whispered  earnestly  to  him.  He  hesitated,  and  then  re 
solved. 

"  Come  here  to  me,  Betsy  Ann  Aery." 

She  went  up  as  gayly  as  if  she  expected  a  present. 

"  I  am  going  to  whip  Betsy  Ann  Aery.  Ef  any  boy 
here  wants  to  take  it  for  her,  he  can  now  step  forrards." 

Betsy  Ann  patted  her  foot,  and  looked  neither  to  the 
right  nor  to  the  left,  nor  yet  behind  her. 

When  a  substitute  was  invited  to  appear,  the  house  was 
still  as  a  graveyard.  I  rubbed  my  legs  apologetically,  and 
looked  up  at  Seaborn,  who  sat  by  me. 

"  No,  sir ;  if  I  do  may  I  be  dinged,  and  then  dug  up 
and — "  I  did  not  listen  to  the  remainder ;  and  as  no  one 
else  seemed  disposed  to  volunteer,  and  as  the  difficulty 


66  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

was  brought  about  upon  my  own  account,  and  as  Betsy 
Ann  liked  me  and  I  liked  Betsy  Ann,  I  made  a  desperate 
resolution,  and  rose  and  presented  myself.  Betsy  Ann  ap 
peared  to  be  disgusted. 

"  I  don't  think  I  would  whip  that  child  any  more  to 
day,  if  I  was  in  your  place,  especially  for  other  folk's 
doings." 

"  That's  jest  as  you  say." 

"  Well,  I  say  go  back  to  your  seat,  Phil." 

I  obeyed,  and  felt  relieved  and  proud  of  myself.  Mr. 
Lorriby  began  to  straighten  his  switch.  Then  I  and  all 
the  other  pupils  looked  at  Mr.  Bill  Williams. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

OH  !  what  an  argument  was  going  on  in  Mr.  Bill's 
breast.  Vain  had  been  all  efforts  heretofore  made  to  bring 
him  in  any  way  into  collision  with  the  Lorribys.  He  had 
even  kept  himself  out  of  all  combinations  to  get  a  little 
holiday  by  an  innocent  ducking,  and  useless  had  been  all 
appeals  heretofore  to  his  sympathies ;  for  he  was  like  the 
rest  who  had  been  through  the  ordeal  of  the  schools,  and 
had  grown  to  believe  that  it  did  more  good  than  harm.  If 
it  had  been  anybody  but  Betsy  Ann  Aery,  he  would  have 
been  unmoved.  But  it  was  Betsy  Ann,  and  he  had  been 
often  heard  to  say  that,  if  she  should  have  to  be  whipped, 
he  should  take  upon  himself  the  responsibility  of  seeing 
that  that  must  not  be  done.  And  now  that  contingency 
had  come.  How  was  this  responsibility  to  be  discharged? 
Mr.  Bill  wished  that  the  female  Lorriby  had  stayed  away 
that  day.  He  did  not  know  exactly  ^vhy  he  wished  it,  but 
he  wished  it.  To  add  to  his  other  difficulties,  Betsy  Ann 


MR.    BILL  WILLIAMS.  67 

had  never  given  any  token  of  her  reciprocation  of  his  re 
gard  ;  for,  now  that  the  novelty  of  the  future  clerkship  had 
worn  away,  she  had  returned  to  her  old  habit  of  never 
seeming  to  notice  that  there  was  such  a  person  as  himself. 
But  the  idea  of  a  switch  falling  upon  her,  whose  person 
from  the  crown  of  her  head  to  the  soles  of  her  feet  was  so 
precious  to  him,  outweighed  every  other  consideration, 
and  he  made  up  his  mind  to  be  as  good  as  his  word.  Just 
as  the  male  Lorriby  (the  female  by  his  side)  was  about  to 
raise  the  switch — 

"  Stop  a  minute,  Mr.  Larrabee  ! "  he  exclaimed,  advanc 
ing  in  a  highly  excited  manner. 

The  teacher  lowered  his  arm  and  retreated  one  step, 
looking  a  little  irresolute.  His  wife  advanced  a  step,  and, 
looking  straight  at  Mr.  Bill,  her  robust  frame  rose  at  least 
an  inch  higher. 

"  Mr.  Larrabee  !  I — ah — don't  exactly  consider  myself 
— ah — as  a  scholar  here  now ;  because — ah — I  expect  to 
move  to  Dukesborough  in  a  few  days,  and  keep  store 
thar  for  Mr.  Bland  &  Jones." 

To  his  astonishment,  this  announcement,  so  impressive 
heretofore,  failed  of  effect  now,  when,  of  all  times,  it  was 
desired.  Mr.  Lorriby,  in  answer  to  a  sign  from  his  wife, 
had  recovered  his  lost  ground,  and  looked  placidly  upon 
him,  but  answered  nothing. 

"  I  say,"  repeated  Mr.  Bill  distinctly,  as  if  he  supposed 
he  had  not  been  heard — "  I  say,  I  expect  in  a  few  days 
to  move  to  Dukesborough ;  to  live  thar ;  to  keep  store 
thar  for  Mr.  Bland  &  Jones." 

"  Well,  William,  I  think  I  have  heard  that  before.  I 
want  to  hear  you  talk  about  it  some  time  when  it  ain't 
school  time,  and  when  we  ain't  so  busy  as  we  air  now  at 
the  present." 

"Well,  but—"  persisted  Mr.  Bill. 


68  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

"Well,  but?  "  inquired  Mr.  Lorriby. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  former,  insistingly. 

"Well,  but  what?  Is  this  case  got  anything  to  do  with 
it?  Is  she  got  anything  to  do  with  it?  " 

"  In  cose  it  have  not,"  answered  Mr.  Bill  sadly. 

"  Well,  what  makes  you  tell  us  of  it  now,  at  the  pres 
ent?  "  What  a  big  word  was  that  us,  then,  to  Josiah 
Lorriby. 

"  Mr.  Larrabee,"  urged  Bill,  in  as  persuasive  accents  as 
he  could  employ ;  "  no,  sir,  Mr.  Larrabee,  it  have  not  got 
anything  to  do  with  it ;  but  yit — " 

"  Well,  yit  what,  William?  " 

"  Well,  Mr.  Larrabee,  I  thought  as  I  was  a-goin'  to  quit 
school  soon,  and  as  I  was  a-goin'  to  move  to  Dukesbor- 
ough — as  I  was  a-goin'  right  outen  your  school  intoo 
Dukesborough  as  it  war,  to  keep  store  thar,  maybe  you 
mout,  as  a  favor,  do  me  a  favor  before  I  left." 

"  Well !  may  I  be  dinged,  and  then  dug  up  and  dinged 
over  again ! "  This  was  said  in  a  suppressed  whisper  by  a 
person  at  my  side.  "  Beggin'  !  beggin'  !  ding  his  white- 
livered  hide — beg-gin'  ! " 

"  Why,  William,"  replied  Mr.  Lorriby,  "  ef  it  war  con- 
venant,  and  the  favor  war  not  too  much,  it  mout  be  that  I 
mout  grant  it." 

"  I  thought  you  would,  Mr.  Larrabee.  The  favor  ain't 
a  big  one — leastways,  it  ain't  a  big  one  to  you.  It  would 
be  a  mighty — "  But  Mr.  Bill  thought  he  could  hardly 
trust  himself  to  say  how  big  it  would  be  to  himself. 

"  Well,  what  is  it,  William?  " 

"  Mr.  Larrabee !  — sir,  Mr.  Larrabee,  I  ast  it  as  a  favor 
of  you,  not  to  whip  Betsy  Ann — which  is  Miss  Betsy  Ann 
Aery." 

"  Thar  now  ! "  groaned  Seaborn,  bowing  his  head. 

The  male  Lorriby  looked  upon  the  female.     She  an- 


MR.    BILL   WILLIAMS.  69 

swered  his  glance  by  one  which  implied  a  conditional  af 
firmative. 

"  Ef  Betsy  Ann  Aery  will  behave  herself,  and  keep  her 
impudence  to  herself,  I  will  let  her  off  this  time." 

All  eyes  turned  to  Betsy  Ann.  I  never  saw  her  look  so 
fine  as  she  raised  up  her  head,  tossed  her  yellow  ringlets 
back,  and  said  in  a  tone  increasing  in  loudness  from  begin 
ning  to  end : 

"  But  Betsy  Ann  Aery  won't  DO  IT." 

"  Hello  again  thar  ! "  whispered  Seaborn,  and  raised  his 
head.  His  dying  hopes  of  a  big  row  were  revived.  This 
was  the  last  opportunity,  and  he  was  as  eager  as  if  the  last 
dollar  he  ever  expected  to  make  had  been  pledged  upon 
the  event.  His  legs  wide  apart,  his  hands  upon  his  knees, 
his  lips  far  separate,  his  teeth  firmly  closed,  he  gazed  upon 
that  scene. 

Lorriby  the  male  was  considerably  disconcerted,  and 
would  have  compromised ;  but  Lorriby  the  female  in  an 
instant  resumed  her  hostile  attitude,  and  this  time  her 
great  eyes  looked  like  two  balls  of  fire.  She  concentrated 
their  gaze  upon  Betsy  Ann  with  a  ferocity  which  was  ap 
palling.  Betsy  Ann  tried  to  meet  them,  and  did  for  one 
moment ;  but  in  another  she  found  she  could  not  hold  out 
longer ;  so  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  sobbed. 
Mr.  Bill  could  endure  no  more.  Both  arms  fairly  flew  out 
at  full  length. 

"  The  fact  ar,"  he  cried,  "  that  I  am  goin'  to  take  the 
responsibility  /  Conshequenches  may  be  conshequenches, 
but  I  shall  take  the  responsibility."  His  countenance  was 
that  of  a  man  who  had  made  up  his  mind.  It  had  come 
at  last,  and  we  were  happy. 

The  female  Lorriby  turned  her  eyes  from  Betsy  Ann 
and  fixed  them  steadily  on  Mr.  Bill.  She  advanced  an 
other  step  forward,  raised  her  arms  and  put  her  hands  on 


•jo  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

her  sides.  The  male  placed  himself  immediately  behind 
his  mate's  right  arm,  while  Rum,  who  seemed  to  under 
stand  what  was  going  on,  came  up,  and,  standing  on  his 
mistress's  left,  looked  curiously  up  at  Mr.  Bill. 

Seaborn  Byne  noticed  this  last  movement.  "Well,  ef 
that  don't  beat  creation  !  You  in  it  too,  is  you  ?  "  he 
muttered  through  his  teeth.  "  Well,  never  do  you  mind. 
Ef  I  don't  fix  you  and  put  you  whar  you'll  never  know  no 
more  but  what  you've  got  a  tail,  may  I  be  dinged,  and 
then,"  etc. 

Seaborn  had  been  counted  upon  for  a  more  important 
work  than  the  mere  neutralizing  of  Rum's  forces ;  still,  I 
knew  that  Mr.  Bill  wanted  and  needed  no  assistance.  We 
were  all  ready,  however — that  is,  I  should  say,  all  but  Mar 
tin.  He  had  no  griefs,  and  therefore  no  desires. 

Such  was  the  height  of  Mr.  Bill's  excitement  that  he  did 
not  even  seem  to  notice  the  hostile  demonstrations  of  these 
numerous  and  various  foes. 

"  Mr.  Larrabee,"  he  said  firmly,  "  I  am  goin'  to  take  the 
responsibility.  I  ast  you  as  a  favor  to  do  me  a  favor  be 
fore  I  left.  I  ain't  much  used  to  askin'  of  favors ;  but  sich 
it  war  now.  It  seem  as  ef  that  favor  cannot  be  granted. 
Sense  I  have  been  here  they  ain't  been  no  difficulties  be 
twixt  you  and  me,  nor  betwixt  me  and  Miss  Larrabee; 
and  no  nothin'  of  the  sort,  not  even  betwixt  me  and  Rum. 
That  dog  have  sometimes  snap  at  my  legs;  but  I  have 
bore  it  for  peace,  and  wanted  no  fuss.  Sich,  therefore,  it 
was  why  I  ast  the  favor  as  a  favor.  But  it  can't  be  hoped, 
and  so  I  takes  the  responsibility.  Mr.  Larrabee,  sir,  and 
you,  Miss  Larrabee,  I  am  goin'  from  this  school  right  intoo 
Dukesborough,  straight  intoo  Mr.  Eland's  store,  to  clerk 
thar.  Sich  bein'  all  the  circumstances,  I  hates  to  do  what 
I  tell  you  I'm  a-goin'  to  do.  But  it  can't  be  hoped,  it  seem, 
and  I  am  goin'  to  do  it." 


MR.    BILL  WILLIAMS.  ?I 

"  Oh  yes,  ding  your  old  hides  of  you  ! "  I  heard  at  my 
side. 

"  Mr.  Larrabee,  and  you,  Miss  Larrabee,"  continued  the 
speaker,  "  I  does  not  desires  that  Betsy  Ann  Aery  shall  be 
whipped.  I  goes  on  to  say  that,  as  sich  and  sich  the  cir 
cumstances,  Betsy  Ann  Aery  can't  be  whipped  whar  I  am 
ef  I  can  keep  it  from  bein'  done." 

"You  heerd  that,  didn't  you?  "  asked  Seaborn,  low,  but 
cruelly  triumphant;  and  Seaborn  looked  at  Rum,  as  if 
considering  how  he  should  begin  the  battle  with  him. 

Mrs.  Lorriby  seldom  spoke.  Whenever  she  did,  it  was 
to  the  point. 

"  Yes,  but,  Weelliam  Weelliams,  you  can't  keep  it  from 
bein'  done."  She  straightened  herself  yet  taller,  and,  rais 
ing  her  hands  yet  higher  upon  her  sides,  changed  the  an 
gle  of  elbows  from  obtuse  to  acute. 

"  Yes,  but  I  kin,"  persisted  Mr.  Bill.  "  Mr.  Larrabee  ! 
Mr.  Larrabee  ! " 

This  gentleman  had  lowered  his  head,  and  was  peering 
at  Mr.  Bill  through  the  triangular  opening  formed  by  his 
mate's  side  and  arm.  The  reason  why  Mr.  Bill  addressed 
him  twice  was  because  he  had  missed  him  when  he  threw 
the  first  address  over  her  shoulder.  The  last  was  sent 
through  the  triangle. 

"  Mr.  Larrabee  !  I  say  it  kin  be  done,  and  I'm  goin' 
to  do  it.  Sir,  little  as  I  counted  on  sich  a  case,  yit  still  it 
ar  so.  Let  the  conshequenches  be  what  they  be,  both 
now  and  some  futur  day.  Sir,  that  whippin'  that  you  was 
agoin'  to  give  to  Betsy  Ann  Aery  cannot  fall  upon  her 
shoulders,  and — and  before  my  face.  Instid  of  sich,  sir, 
you  may  jest — instid  of  whippin'  of  her,  sir,  you  may — 
instid  of  her,  you  may  give  it,  sir — notwithstandin'  and 
nevertheless — you  may  give  it  to  ME."  Then  he,  letting 
fall  his  arms,  took  off  his  coat,  laid  it  on  a  bench  and 


72  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

turned  his  shoulder  to  the  master  with  the  meekness  of  one 
who,  having  been  made  the  involuntary  companion  of  a 
traveler  for  one  mile,  had  made  up  his  mind  to  accom 
pany  him  twain. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

IF  the  pupils  had  been  familiar  with  the  histories  of  the 
base  men  of  all  the  ages,  they  could  have  found  not  one 
with  whom  to  compare  Mr.  Bill  Williams.  If  they  had 
known  what  it  was  to  be  a  traitor,  they  might  have  ad 
mitted  that  he  was  more  like  this,  the  most  despicable  of  all 
characters,  than  any  other.  But  they  would  have  argued 
that  he  was  baser  than  all  other  traitors,  because  he  had 
betrayed,  not  only  others,  but  himself.  Mr.  Bill  Williams, 
the  big  boy,  the  future  resident  of  Dukesborough,  the  ex 
pectant  clerk,  the  vindicator  of  outraged  girlhood  in  the 
person  of  the  girl  he  loved,  the  pledge-taker  of  responsibil 
ities — that  he  should  have  taken  the  pains,  just  before  he 
was  going  away,  to  degrade  himself  by  proposing  to  take 
upon  his  own  shoulders  the  rod  that  had  never  before 
descended  but  upon  the  backs  and  legs  of  children  !  Poor 
Seaborn  Byne  !  If  I  ever  saw  expressed  in  a  human  be 
ing's  countenance  disgust,  anger,  and  abject  hopelessness, 
I  saw  them  as  I  turned  to  look  at  him.  He  spoke  not 
one  word,  not  even  in  whispers,  but  he  looked  as  if  he 
could  never  more  place  confidence  in  mortal  flesh. 

When  Mr.  Bill  had  concluded  his  ultimatum,  the  female 
Lorriby's  arms  came  down,  and  the  male  Lorriby's  head 
went  up.  They  sent  each  other  smiles.  Both  were  smart 
enough  to  be  satisfied.  The  latter  was  more  than  satisfied. 

"  I  am  proud  this  day  of  William  Williams.  It  air  so, 
and  I  can  but  say  I  am  proud  of  him.  William  Williams 


MR.    BILL  WILLIAMS. 


73 


were  now  in  a  position  to  stand  up  and  shine  in  his  new 
spere  of  action.  If  he  went  to  Dukesborough  to  keep 
store  thar,  he  mout  now  go  sayin'  that  as  he  had  been  a 
good  scholar,  so  he  mout  expect  to  be  a  good  clerk,  and 
fit  to  be  trusted,  yea,  with  thousands  upon  thousands,  ef 
sich  mout  be  the  case.  But  as  it  was  so,  and  as  he  have 
been  to  us  all  as  it  war,  and  no  difficulties,  and  no  nuthin' 
of  the  sort,  and  he  war  goin',  and  it  mout  be  soon,  yea,  it 
mout  be  to-morrow,  from  this  school  straight  intoo  a  store, 
I  cannot,  nor  I  cannot.  No,  far  be  it.  This  were  a  skene 
too  solemn  and  too  lovely  for  sich.  I  cannot,  nor  I  can 
not.  William  Williams  may  now  take  his  seat." 

He  obeyed.  I  was  glad  that  he  did  not  look  at  Betsy 
Ann  as  she  turned  to  go  to  hers.  But  she  looked  at  him. 
I  noticed  her,  and,  little  as  I  was,  I  saw  also  that  if  he 
ever  had  had  any  chance  of  winning  her,  it  was  gone.  It 
was  now  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  we  were  dismissed. 
Without  saying  a  word  to  any  one,  Mr.  Bill  took  his  arith 
metic  and  slate  (for  ciphering,  as  it  was  called  then,  was 
his  only  study).  We  knew  what  it  meant,  for  we  felt,  as 
well  as  he,  that  this  was  his  last  day  at  school.  As  my 
getting  to  school  depended  upon  his  continuance,  I  did 
not  doubt  that  it  was  my  last  also. 

On  the  way  home,  but  not  until  separating  from  all  the 
other  boys,  he  showed  some  disposition  to  boast. 

"  You  all  little  fellows  was  monstrous  badly  skeerd  this 
evening,  squire." 

"Wasn't  you  scared  too?  "  I  asked. 

"Skeerd?  I'd  like  to  see  the  schoolmarster  that  could 
skeer  me.  /skeerd  of  Joe  Larrabee?  " 

"  I  did  not  think  you  were  scared  of  him." 

"Skeerd  of  who,  then?  Miss  Larrabee?  She  mout 
be  redder-eyed  than  what  she  ar,  and  then  not  skeer  me. 
Why,  look  here,  squire,  how  would  I  look  goin'  intoo 


74 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


Dukesborough,  intoo  Mr.  Bland  &  Jones's  store,  right  from 
bein'  skeerd  of  Miss  Larrabee ;  to  be  runnin'  right  intoo 
Mr.  Bland  &  Jones's  store,  and  Mehetibilly  Larrabee  right 
arter  me,  or  old  Joe  nuther?  It  wur  well  for  him  that  he 
never  struck  Betsy  Ann  Aery." 

"  But  wasn't  you  goin'  to  take  her  whippin'  for  her?  " 
"  Lookee  here,  squire,  I  didn't  take  it,  did  I  ?  " 
"  No,  but  you  said  you  was  ready  to  take  it." 
"  Poor     little     fellow ! "     he     said,     compassionately. 
"  Squire,  you  are  yit  young  in  the  ways  of  this  sorrowful 
and    ontimely  world.     Joe  Larrabee  knows  me,  and   I 
knows  Joe  Larrabee,  and,  as  the  fellar  said,  that  ar  suffi 
cient." 

We  were  now  at  our  gate.  Mr.  Bill  took  me  out  of  his 
pockets,  set  me  down  softly,  bade  me  good-evening,  and 
passed  on ;  and  thus  ended  his  pupilage  and  mine  at  the 
school  of  Josiah  Lorriby. 


INVESTIGATIONS  CONCERNING  MR.  JONAS 
LIVELY. 


"  I  well  believe 

.Thou  wilt  not  utter  what  thou  dost  not  know, 
And  so  far  will  I  trust  thee." — Shakspere. 

"  Man  is  but  half  without  woman." — Bailey. 


CHAPTER   I. 

ALTHOUGH  Mr.  Bill  Williams  had  moved  into  Dukes- 
borough,  this  exaltation  did  not  interfere  with  the  cor 
dial  relations  established  between  him  and  myself  at  the 
Lorriby  school.  He  used  to  come  out  occasionally  on 
visits  to  his  mother,  and  seldom  returned  without  calling  at 
our  house.  This  occurred  most  usually  upon  the  Sundays 
when  the  monthly  meetings  were  held  in  the  church  at 
Dukesborough.  On  such  days  he  and  I  usually  rode  home 
together,  I  upon  my  pony  and  he  upon  a  large  brown  mare 
which  his  mother  had  sent  to  him  in  the  forenoon. 

Ever  since  those  remote  times,  I  have  associated  in  my 
memory  Mr.  Bill  with  that  mare,  and  one  or  another  of  her 
many  colts.  According  to  the  best  of  my  recollection,  she 
was  for  years  and  years  never  without  a  colt.  Her  normal 
condition  seemed  to  be  always  to  be  followed  by  a  colt. 
Sometimes  it  was  a  horse-colt  and  sometimes  a  mule ;  for 
the  planters  in  those  times  raised  at  home  nearly  all  their 


76  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

domestic  animals.  What  a  lively  little  fellow  this  colt  always 
was ;  and  what  an  anxious  parent  was  old  Molly  Sparks, 
as  Mr.  Bill  called  the  dam!  How  that  colt  would  run 
about  and  get  mixed  up  with  the  horses  in  the  grove 
around  the  church ;  and  how  the  old  mare  would  whicker 
all  during  the  service!  I  knew  that  whicker  among  a 
hundred.  Mr.  Bill  used  always  to  tie  her  to  a  swinging 
limb ;  for  her  anxiety  would  sometimes  cause  her  to  break 
the  frail  bridle  which  usually  confined  her,  and  run  all 
about  the  grounds  in  pursuit  of  her  truant  offspring. 
Mr.  Bill  used  also  to  sit  where  he  could  see  her  in  order  to 
be  ready  for  all  difficulties.  I  have  often  been  amused  to 
notice  how  he  would  be  annoyed  by  her  cries  and  pranc- 
ings,  and  how  he  would  pretend  to  be  listening  intently  to 
the  sermon  when  his  whole  attention  I  knew  to  be  on  old 
Molly  and  the  colt.  Seldom  was  there  a  Sunday  that  he  did 
not  have  to  leave  the  church  in  order  to  catch  old  Molly 
and  tie  her  up  again.  This  was  a  catastrophe  he  was  ever 
dreading,  because  he  really  disliked  to  disturb  the  service ; 
and  he  had  the  consideration,  when  he  rose  to  go,  to  place 
his  handkerchief  to  his  face,  that  the  congregation  might 
suppose  that  his  nose  was  bleeding. 

While  we  would  be  riding  home,  the  conduct  of  that  colt, 
if  anything,  would  be  worse  than  at  the  church.  His  fond 
parent  would  exert  every  effort  to  keep  him  by  her  side, 
but  he  would  get  mixed  up  with  the  horses  more  than  be 
fore.  Twenty  times  would  he  be  lost.  Sometimes  he 
would  be  at  an  immense  distance  behind ;  then  he  would 
pretend,  as  it  seemed,  to  be  anxiously  looking  for  his 
mother,  and  would  run  violently  against  every  horse,  whether 
under  the  saddle  or  in  harness.  Old  Molly  would  wheel 
around  and  try  to  get  back,  her  whickers  ever  resounding 
far  and  wide.  When  the  colt  would  have  enough  of  this 
frolic,  or  some  one  of  the  home-returning  horsemen  would 


MR.   JONAS  LIVELY.  77 

give  him  a  cut  with  his  riding-switch,  he  would  get  out 
upon  the  side  of  the  road,  run  at  full  speed  past  his  dam, 
and  get  similarly  mixed  up  with  the  horses  in  front.  If  he 
ever  got  where  she  was  he  would  appear  to  be  extrava 
gantly  gratified,  and  would  make  an  immediate  and  vio 
lent  effort  to  have  himself  suckled.  Failing  in  this,  he 
would  let  fly  his  hind-legs  at  her,  and  dash  off  again  at  full 
speed  in  whatever  direction  his  head  happened  to  be 
turned.  Mr.  Bill  would  often  say  that,  of  all  the  fools  he 
ever  saw,  old  Molly  and  her  colt  were  the  biggest.  As  for 
my  part,  the  anxiety  of  the  parent  seemed  to  me  natural  in 
the  circumstances ;  but  I  must  confess,  that  in  the  matter  of 
the  quality  usually  called  discretion,  while  the  young  of  most 
animals  have  little  of  it  usually,  I  have  frequently  thought 
that  of  all  others  the  one  who  had  the  least  amount  was 
the  colt. 

I  did  not  intend  to  speak  of  such  a  trifling  matter,  but 
was  led  to  it  unwarily  by  the  association  of  ideas.  Mr. 
Bill  often  accepted  our  invitations  to  dinner  upon  these 
Sundays,  or  he  would  walk  over  in  the  afternoon.  Al 
though  he  liked  much  the  society  of  my  parents,  yet  he  was 
fondest  of  being  with  me  singly.  With  all  his  fondness  for 
talking,  there  was  some  constraint  upon  him,  especially  in 
the  presence  of  my  father,  for  whom  he  had  the  profound- 
est  respect.  So,  somehow  or  other,  Mr.  Bill  and  I  would 
get  away  to  ourselves,  when  he  could  display  his  full 
powers  in  that  line.  This  was  easily  practicable,  as  never 
or  seldom  did  such  a  day  pass  without  our  having  other 
guests  to  dinner  from  among  those  neighbors  who  resided 
at  a  greater  distance  from  the  village  than  we  did.  Our  table 
on  these  Sundays  was  always  extended  to  two  or  three  times 
its  usual  length.  My  parents,  though  they  were  religious, 
thought  there  was  no  harm  in  detaining  some  of  these 
neighbors  to  dinner  and  during  the  remainder  of  the  day. 


78  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

Mr.  Bill  had  evidently  realized  his  expectations  of  the 
pleasures  and  advantages  of  town  life.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  he  was  greatly  improved  by  it.  He  had  evidently  laid 
aside  some  of  his  ancient  awkwardness  and  hesitation  of 
manner.  He  talked  more  at  his  ease.  Then  he  gave  a 
more  careful  and  fashionable  turn  to  his  hair,  and,  I 
thought,  combed  and  brushed  it  oftener  than  he  had  been 
wont.  His  trousers,  too,  were  better  pulled  up,  and  his 
shirt-collar  was  now  never  or  seldom  without  the  necessary 
button.  I  was  therefore  somewhat  surprised  to  hear  my 
father  remark  more  than  once  that  he  did  not  think  that 
town  life  was  exactly  the  best  thing  for  Mr.  Bill,  and  that 
he  would  not  be  surprised  if  he  would  not  have  done  bet 
ter  to  keep  at  home  with  his  mother.  But  Mr.  Bill  grew 
more  and  more  fond  of  Dukesborough,  and  he  used  to  re 
late  to  me  some  of  the  remarkable  things  that  occurred 
there.  About  every  one  of  the  hundred  inhabitants  of  the 
place  and  those  who  visited  it,  he  knew  everything  that 
by  any  possibility  could  be  ascertained.  He  used  to  con 
tend  that  it  was  a  merchant's  business  to  know  everybody, 
and  especially  those  who  tried  to  conceal  their  affairs  from 
universal  observation.  He  had  not  been  very  long  in 
Dukesborough  before  he  could  answer  almost  any  question 
you  could  put  to  him  about  any  of  his  fellow-citizens. 

With  one  exception. 

This  was  Mr.  Jonas  Lively. 

He  was  too  hard  a  case  for  Mr.  Bill.  Neither  he  nor 
any  other  person,  not  even  Mrs.  Hodge,  seemed  to  know 
much  about  him.  The  late  Mr.  Hodge  probably  knew 
more  than  anybody  else ;  but,  if  he  did,  he  did  not  tell  it, 
and  now  he  was  dead  and  gone,  and  Mr.  Lively  was  left 
comparatively  unknown  to  the  world. 

Where  Mr.  Lively  had  come  from  originally  people  did 
not  know  for  certain,  although  he  had  been  heard  occa- 


MR.    JONAS   LIVELY.  79 

sionally  to  use  expressions  which  induced  the  belief  that 
he  might  have  been  a  native  of  the  State  of  North  Car 
olina.  It  was  ascertained  that  he  had  done  business  for 
some  years  in  Augusta,  and  some  said  that  he  yet  owned  a 
little  property  there.  This  much  was  certain,  that  he  went 
there  or  somewhere  else  once  every  winter,  and,  after  remain 
ing  about  a  month,  returned,  as  was  supposed,  with  two  new 
vests  and  pairs  of  trousers.  At  the  time  that  I  began  to  take 
an  interest  in  him  in  sympathy  with  Mr.  Bill,  he  had  been 
residing  at  Dukesborough  for  about  three  years ;  not  ex 
actly  at  Dukesborough  either,  but  something  less  than  a 
mile  outside,  where  he  boarded  with  the  Hodges,  occupy 
ing  a  small  building  in  one  corner  of  the  yard,  which  they 
called  "the  Office,"  and  in  which,  before  he  came,  the 
family  used  to  take  their  meals.  He  might  have  had  his 
chamber  in  the  main  house  where  the  others  stayed,  but 
for  one  thing ;  for  besides  the  two  main  rooms  there  were 
a  couple  of  low-roofed  shed-rooms  in  front,  one  of  which 
was  occupied  by  Susan  Temple,  a  very  poor  relation  of  Mr. 
Hodge.  There  were  no  children,  and  Mr.  Lively  might 
have  had  the  other  shed-room  across  the  piazza,  but  for 
the  fact  that  it  was  devoted  to  another  purpose.  Mr. 
Hodge — 

But  one  at  a  time.  Let  me  stick  to  Mr.  Lively  for  the 
present,  and  tell  what  little  was  known  about  him. 

Mr.  Lively  was  about  fifty-one  or  -two  years  of  age. 
Mr.  Bill  used  to  insist  that  he  would  never  see  fifty-five 
again,  and  that  he  would  not  be  surprised  if  he  was  sixty. 
I  have  no  idea  but  that  this  was  an  over-estimate.  The 
truth  is  that,  as  I  have  often  remarked,  young  men  like 
Mr.  Bill  are  prone  to  assign  too  great  age  to  elderly  men, 
especially  when,  like  Mr.  Lively,  they  are  unmarried.  But 
let  that  go. 

Mr.  Lively  was  quite  stout  in  body,  but  of  moderate- 
6 


8o  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

sized  legs.  He  had  a  brown  complexion,  brown  hair,  and 
black  eyebrows.  His  eyes  were  a  mild  green,  with  some 
tinge  of  red  in  the  whites.  His  nose  was  Roman,  or  would 
have  been  if  it  had  been  longer ;  for  just  as  it  began  to 
hook  and  to  become  Roman  it  stopped  short,  as  if  upon 
reflection  it  thought  it  wrong  to  ape  ancient  and  especially 
foreign  manners.  He  always  wore  a  long  black  frock-coat, 
either  gray  or  black  trousers  and  vest,  and  a  very  stout, 
low-crowned  furred  hat.  He  carried  a  hickory  walking- 
stick  with  a  hooked  handle. 

He  never  seemed  to  have  any  regular  business.  True, 
he  was  known  sometimes  to  buy  a  bale  of  cotton,  or  it 
might  be  two  or  three,  and  afterward  have  them  hauled 
to  Augusta  by  some  neighbor's  wagon,  when  the  latter 
would  be  carrying  his  own  to  market.  Then  he  occasion 
ally  bought  a  poor  horse  out  of  a  wagon,  and  kept  it  at  the 
Hodges'  for  a  couple  of  months,  and  got  him  fat  and  sold 
him  again  at  a  smart  profit.  He  was  a  capital  doctor  of 
horses,  and  was  suspected  of  being  somewhat  proud  of  his 
skill  in  that  line,  as  he  would  cheerfully  render  his  services 
when  called  upon,  and  always  refused  any  compensation. 
But  when  he  traded,  he  traded.  If  he  bought,  he  put 
down  squarely  into  the  seller's  hands ;  if  he  sold,  the  money 
had  to  be  put  squarely  into  his.  Such  transactions  were 
rare,  however ;  he  certainly  made  but  little  in  that  way. 
But  then  he  spent  less.  Besides  five  dollars  a  month  for 
board  and  lodging,  he  furnishing  his  own  room,  if  he  was 
out  any  more  nobody  knew  what  it  was  for. 

He  was  a  remarkably  silent  man.  Although  he  came 
into  Dukesborough  often,  he  had  but  little  to  say  to  any 
body  and  stayed  but  a  short  time.  The  remainder  of  the 
day  he  spent  at  home,  partly  in  walking  about  the  place 
and  partly  in  reading  while  sitting  in  his  chamber,  or  on  the 
piazza  between  the  two  little  shed-rooms  in  the  front  part 


MR.    JONAS   LIVELY.  8 1 

of  the  house.  He  seldom  went  to  church ;  yet  upon  Sun 
days  he  read  the  Bible  and  other  religious  books  almost 
the  livelong  clay. 

In  the  lifetime  of  Mr.  Hodge  he  was  supposed  to  know 
considerable  about  Mr.  Lively.  The  latter  certainly  used 
to  talk  with  him  with  more  freedom  than  with  any  other 
person.  Mrs.  Hodge,  a  tallish,  slenderish  lady,  never  was 
able  to  get  much  out  of  Mr.  Lively,  notwithstanding  that 
she  was  a  woman  who  was  remarkably  fond  of  obtain 
ing  as  much  information  as  possible  about  other  persons. 
She  used  to  give  it  as  her  opinion  that  there  was  nothing 
in  Mr.  Lively,  and  in  his  absence  she  talked  and  laughed 
freely  at  his  odd  ways  and  looks.  But  her  husband  at 
such  times  would  mildly  rebuke  her.  After  he  died  the 
opinion  became  general  that  no  person  was  likely  to  suc 
ceed  him  in  Mr.  Lively's  confidence,  and  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  dissatisfaction  upon  the  subject. 

Mr.  Bill  Williams  felt  this  dissatisfaction  to  an  uncom 
mon  degree.  Being  now  a  citizen  of  Dukesborough,  he 
felt  himself  bound  to  be  thoroughly  identified  with  all  its 
interests.  Any  man  that  thus  kept  himself  apart  from  so 
ciety,  and  refused  to  allow  everybody  to  know  all  about 
himself  and  his  business,  was,  in  his  opinion,  a  suspicious 
character,  and  ought  to  be  watched.  What  seemed  to 
concern  him  more  than  anything  else,  was  a  question  fre 
quently  mooted  as  to  whether  Mr.  Lively's  hair  was  his 
own  or  a  wig.  Such  a  thing  as  the  latter  had  never  been 
seen  in  the  town,  and  therefore  the  citizens  were  not  fa 
miliar  with  it ;  but  doubts  were  raised  from  the  peculiar 
way  in  which  Mr.  Lively's  hung  from  his  head,  and  Mr. 
Bill  wanted  to  see  them  settled — not  that  this  Avould  have 
fully  satisfied  him,  but  he  would  have  felt  something  better. 
He  desired  to  know  all  about  Mr.  Lively,  it  is  true ;  yet, 
if  he  had  been  allowed  to  investigate  him  fully,  he  certainly 


82  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

would  have  begun  with  his  head.  "  The  fact  of  it  is,"  he 
maintained,  "that  it  ain't  right.  It  ain't  right  to  the 
Dukesborough  people,  and  it  ain't  right  to  the  transhent 
people.  Transhent  people  comes  here  goin'  through,  and 
stops  all  night  at  Spouter's  tavern.  They  asts  about  the 
place  and  the  people ;  and  who  knows  but  what  some  of 
'em  mout  wish  to  buy  prop'ty  and  come  and  settle  here? 
In  cose,  I  in  ginerly  does  most  o'  the  talkin'  to  sich  folks, 
and  lets  'em  know  about  the  place  and  the  people.  I  don't 
like  to  be  obleeged  to  tell  'em  that  we  has  one  suspicious 
character  in  the  neighborhood,  and  which  he  is  so  suspi 
cious  that  he  don't  never  pull  off  his  hat,  and  that  people 
don't  know  whether  the  very  har  on  his  head  is  hisn  or 
not.  I  tell  you  it  ain't  right.  I  made  up  my  mind  the 
first  good  chance  I  git  to  ast  Mr.  Lively  a  few  civil  ques 
tions  about  hisself." 

It  was  not  very  long  after  this  before  an  opportunity  was 
presented  to  him  for  this  purpose.  Mr.  Lively  walked  into 
the  store  one  morning  when  there  was  no  other  person 
there  except  him,  and  inquired  for  some  drugs  to  give  to  a 
sick  horse.  Mr.  Bill  carefully  but  slowly  made  up  the 
bundle,  when  the  following  dialogue  took  place. 

"  I'm  monstous  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Lively ;  you  don't 
come  into  the  store  so  monstous  powerful  ofting.  I  wish 
I  could  see  you  here  more  freckwent.  Not  as  I'm  so 
mighty  powerful  anxious  to  sell  goods,  though  that's  my 
business,  and  in  course  I  feels  better  when  trade's  brisk ; 
but  I  jes'  natchelly  would  like  to  see  you.  You  may  not 
know  it,  Mr.  Lively,  but  I  don't  expect  you've  got  a  better 
friend  in  this  here  town  than  what  I  am." 

Mr.  Bill  somehow  couldn't  find  exactly  where  the  twine 
was ;  he  looked  about  for  it  in  several  places,  especially 
where  it  was  quite  unlikely  that  it  should  be.  Mr.  Lively 
was  silent. 


MR.   JONAS   LIVELY.  83 

"  I  has  thought,"  continued  Mr.  Bill,  after  finding  his 
twine,  "that  I  would  like  to  talk  with  you  sometimes.  The 
people  is  always  a  inquirin'  of  me  where  you  come  from 
and  all  sich,  and  what  business  you  used  to  follow,  jes'  like 
they  thought  you  and  me  was  intimate  friends — which  I 
am  as  good  a  friend  as  you've  got  in  the  whole  town,  and 
which  I  s'pose  you're  a  friend  of  mine.  I  tells  'em  you're 
a  monstous  fine  man  in  my  opinion,  and  I  spose  I  does 
know  you  about  as  well  as  anybody  else  about  here.  But 
yit  we  hain't  had  no  long  continyed  convisation  like  I 
thought  we  mout  have  some  time,  when  it  mout  be  con- 
venant,  and  we  mout  talk  all  about  old  North  Calliner 
whar  you  come  from,  and  which  my  father  he  come  from 
thar  too,  but  which  he  is  now  dead  and  goned.  Law! 
how  he  did  love  to  talk  about  that  old  country!  and  how 
he  did  love  the  people  that  come  from  thar!  If  my  father 
was  here,  which  now  he  is  dead  and  goned,  he  wouldn't  let 
you  rest  wheresomever  he  mout  see  you  for  talkin'  about 
old  North  Calliner  and  them  old  people  over  thar." 

Mr.  Bill  handed  the  parcel  to  Mr.  Lively  with  as  win 
ning  a  look  as  it  was  possible  for  him  to  bestow.  Mr. 
Lively  seemed  slightly  interested. 

"And  your  father  was  from  North  Carolina?  " 

"  Certinly,"  answered  Mr.  Bill,  with  glee ;  "  right  from 
Tar  River.  I've  heern  him  and  mammy  say  so  nigh  and  in 
and  about  a  thousand  times,  I  do  believe."  And  Mr.  Bill 
advanced  from  behind  the  counter,  came  up  to  Mr.  Lively, 
and  looked  kindly  and  neighborly  upon  him. 

"Do  you  ever  think  about. going  there  yourself  ?"  in 
quired  the  latter. 

Mr.  Bill  did  that  very  thing  over  and  ofting.  From  a 
leetle  bit  of  a  boy  he  had  thought  how  he  would  like  to  go 
thar  and  see  them  old  people.  If  he  lived,  he  would  go  thar 
some  day  to  that  very  old  place,  and  see  them  old  people. 


84  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

From  the  way  he  spoke,  it  seemed  that  his  ideas  were 
that  the  North  Carolinians  all  resided  in  one  particular 
locality,  and  that  they  were  all  elderly  persons.  But  this 
was  possibly  intended  as  a  snare  to  catch  Mr.  Lively,  by 
paying,  in  this  indirect  manner,  respect  to  his  advanced 
age. 

"  Oh  ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Lively,  while  he  stored  away  the 
parcel  in  his  capacious  pocket,  "  you  ought  to  go  there,  by 
all  means.  If  you  should  ever  go  there,  you  will  find  as 
good  people  as  you  ever  saw  in  your  life.  They  are  a 
peaceable  people,  those  North  Carolinians,  and  industrious. 
You  hardly  ever  see  a  man  there  that  has  not  got  some 
sort  of  business ;  and  then,  as  a  general  thing,  people  there 
attend  to  their  own  business,  and  don't  bother  themselves 
about  other  people's." 

Mr.  Lively  then  turned  and  walked  slowly  to  the  door. 
As  he  reached  it,  he  turned  again  and  said : 

"  Oh  yes,  Mr.  Williams,  you  ought  to  go  there  and  see 
that  people  once  before  you  die ;  it  would  do  you  good. 
Good-day,  Mr.  Williams." 

After  Mr.  Lively  had  gotten  out  of  the  store  and  taken 
a  few  steps,  Mr.  Bill  went  to  the  door,  looked  at  him  in 
silence  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then  made  the  following 
soliloquy : 

"  Got  no  more  manners  than  a  hound.  I  ast  him  a  civil 
question,  and  see  what  I  got!  But  never  mind,  I'll  find 
out  somethin'  about  you  yit.  Now,  ain't  thar  a  picter  of  a 
man !  Well  you  k'yars  a  walkin'-stick :  them  legs  needs 
all  the  help  they  can  git  in  totin'  the  balance  of  you  about. 
And  jes'  look  at  that  har :  I  jes'  know  it  ain't  all  hisn.  But 
never  do  you  mind." 

After  this,  Mr.  Bill  seemed  to  regard  it  as  a  point  of 
honor  to  find  Mr.  Lively  out.  Hitherto  he  had  owed  it  to 
the  public  mainly ;  now  there  was  a  debt  due  to  himself. 


MR.    JONAS   LIVELY.  85 

He  had  propounded  to  that  person  a  civil  question,  and, 
instead  of  getting  a  civil  answer,  had  been  as  good  as 
laughed  at.  Mr.  Lively  might  go  for  the  present,  but  he 
should  be  up  with  him  in  time. 

It  was,  perhaps,  fortunate  for  Mr.  Bill's  designs,  as  well 
as  for  the  purposes  of  this  narrative,  that  he  was  slightly 
akin  to  Mrs.  Hodge,  whom  he  occasionally  visited.  How 
ever,  we  have  seen  that  this  lady  had  known  heretofore 
about  as  little  of  her  guest  as  other  people,  and  that,  at 
least  in  the  lifetime  of  Mr.  Hodge,  her  opinion  was  that 
there  was  nothing  in  him.  True,  since  Mr.  Hodge's  death 
she  had  been  more  guarded  in  her  expressions.  Mrs. 
Hodge  probably  reflected  that  now  she  was  a  lone  woman 
in  the  world,  except  Susan  Temple,  who  was  next  to  noth 
ing,  she  ought  to  be  particular.  Mr.  Bill  had  sounded  his 
cousin  Malviny  (as  he  called  her)  heretofore,  and,  of 
course,  could  get  nothing  more  than  she  had  to  impart. 
He  might  give  up  some  things,  but  they  were  not  of  the 
kind  we  are  considering.  He  informed  me  one  day  that 
on  one  subject  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  take  the  re 
sponsibility.  This  expression  reminded  me  of  our  last  day 
with  the  Lorribys,  and  I  hesitated  whether  the  fullest  reli 
ance  could  be  placed  upon  such  a  threat.  But  I  said 
nothing. 

"That  thing,"  he  continued,  "are  the  circumsance  of 
his  har:  which  it  is  my  opinion  that  it  ain't  all  hisn: 
which  I  has  never  seed  a  wig,  but  has  heern  of  'em ;  and 
which  it  is  my  opinion  that  that  har  is  a  imposition  on  the 
public,  and  also  on  Cousin  Malviny  Hodge,  and  he  a-livin' 
in  her  very  house — leastways  in  the  office.  I  mout  be  mis 
taken  ;  ef  so,  I  beg  his  pardon :  though  he  have  not  got 
the  manners  of  a  hound,  no,  not  even  to  anser  a  civil 
question.  Still,  I  wouldn't  wish  to  hurt  a  har  of  his  head ; 
no,  not  even  ef  it  war  not  all  hisn.  Yit  the  public  have  a 


86  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

right  to  know,  and — I  wants  to  know  myself.  And  I'm 
gittin'  tired  of  sich  foolin'  and  bamboozlin',  so  to  speak ; 
and  the  fact  is,  that  Mr.  Lively  have  got  to  'splain  hisself 
on  the  circumsance  o'  that  har." 

The  next  time  I  met  him,  he  was  delighted  with  some 
recent  and  important  information.  I  shall  let  him  speak 
for  himself. 


CHAPTER   II. 

MR.  BILL  came  over  to  our  house  one  Sunday.  I  knew 
from  his  looks  upon  entering  that  he  had  something  to 
communicate.  As  soon  as  dinner  was  over,  and  he  could 
decently  do  so,  he  proposed  to  me  a  walk.  My  father  was 
much  amused  at  the  intimacy  between  us,  and  I  sometimes 
noted  a  smile  upon  his  face  when  we  started  out  together 
upon  one  of  our  afternoon  strolls.  As  I  was  rather  small 
for  nine,  and  Mr.  Bill  rather  large  for  nineteen  years  old,  I 
suppose  it  was  somewhat  ludicrous  to  observe  such  a  cou 
ple  sustaining  to  each  other  the  relation  of  equality.  Mr. 
Bill  treated  me  as  fully  his  equal,  and  I  had  come  to 
feel  as  much  ease  in  his  society  as  if  he  had  been  of  my 
own  age.  By  his  residence  in  town  he  had  acquired  some 
sprightliness  of  manner  and  conversation  which  made  him 
more  interesting  to  me  than  formerly.  This  sprightliness 
was  manifested  by  his  forbearing  to  call  me  squire  persist 
ently,  and  varying  my  name  with  that  ease  and  freedom 
which  town-people  learn  so  soon  to  employ.  This  was  in 
teresting  to  me. 

When  we  had  gotten  out  of  the  yard  and  into  the  grove, 
Mr.  Bill  began : 

"  Oh,  my  friend,  friend  of  my  boyhood's  sunny  hour, 
I've  been  nigh  and  in  about  a-dyin'  to  see  you,  especially 
sence  night  afore  last — sence  I  caught  old  Jonah." 


MR.    JONAS   LIVELY.  87 

"  Have  you  caught  him,  Mr.  Bill?  " 

"Caught  him!  Treed  him!  Not  ezactly  treed  him 
neither ;  but  runned  him  to  his  holler.  I  told  you  I  was 
goin*  to  do  it." 

Seeing  that  I  did  not  clearly  understand,  he  smiled  with 
delight  at  the  felicitous  manner  in  which  he  had  begun  his 
narrative.  We  proceeded  a  little  farther  to  a  place  where 
a  huge  oak  tree  had  protruded  its  roots  from  the  ground. 
There  we  sat,  and  he  resumed : 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  runned  him  right  into  his  holler.  And  now, 
squire,  I.'m  goin'  to  tell  you  a  big  secret;  and  you  are 
mighty  nigh  the  onliest  man,  Phillmon  Pearch,  that  I've 
told  it,  becase,  you  see,  the  circumsances  is  sich  that  it 
won't  do  to  tell  too  many  people  nohow ;  for  Mr.  Lively 
he's  a  curis  sort  o'  man,  I'm  afeard.  And  then  you  know, 
Philip,  you  and  me  has  been  thick  and  jes'  like  brothers, 
and  I'll  tell  to  you  what  I  wouldn't  tell  to  no  monstous 
powerful  chance  o'  people  nohow.  And  ef  it  was  to  git 
out,  people,  and  specially  other  people,  mout  say  that  I 
didn't — ah — do.  ezactly  right.  And  then  thar's  Cousin 
Malviny  Hodge.  Somehow  Cousin  Malviny  she  ain't — 
somehow  she  ain't  ezactly  like  she  used  to  be  in  Daniel 
Hodge's  lifetime.  Wimming  is  right  curis  things,  squire, 
specially  arfter  thar  husbands  dies.  I  never  should  a 
b'lieved  it  of  her  arfter  what  I've  heern  her  say  and  go  on 
about  that  old  feller.  But  wimming's  wimming ;  and  they 
ar  going  to  be  so  always.  But  that's  neither  here  nor 
thar :  you  mustn't  let  on  that  I  said  a  word  about  him." 

I  felt  flattered  by  this  the  first  confidential  communica 
tion  I  had  ever  received,  and  promised  secrecy. 

"  Well,  you  see,  Squire  Phil,  I  ast  Mr.  Lively  as  far  and 
civil  question  as  one  gentleman  could  ast  another  gentle 
man,  becase  I  thought  that  people  had  a  right  and  was  lia 
ble  to  know  somcthirf  about  a  man  who  live  in  the  neigh- 


88  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

borhood,  and  been  a-livin'  thar  for  the  last  three  year  and 
never  yit  told  a  human  anything  about  hisself,  exceptin'  it 
mout  be  to  Daniel  Hodge,  which  he's  now  dead  and 
goned,  and  not  even  Cousin  Malviny  don't  know.  Least 
ways  didn't.  I  don't  know  what  she  mout  know  now.  O 
wimming,  wimming!  They  won't  do,  Philip.  But  let  'em 
go.  I  ast  Mr.  Lively  a  civil  question.  One  day  when  he 
come  in  the  sto'  I  ast  him  as  polite  and  civil  as  I  knowed 
how  about  gittin'  a  little  bit  acquainted  along  with  him, 
and  which  I  told  him  I  was  friendly,  and  also  all  about  my 
father  comin'  from  North  Calliner,  thinkin'  maybe,  as  he 
came  from  thar  too,  he  mout  have  a  sorter  friendly  feelin' 
to  me  in  a  likewise  way,  ef  he  didn't  keer  about  bein'  so 
monstous  powerful  friendly  to  the  people  in  ginerl,  which 
the  most  of  'em,  you  know,  like  your  folks,  they  mostly  come 
from  old  Firginny.  You  see  I  sorter  slyly  baited  my  hook 
with  old  North  Calliner.  But  nary  bite  did  I  git — no, 
nary  nibble.  The  old  fellow  look  at  me  mighty  interestin' 
while  I  war  a-goin'  on  about  the  old  country,  and  arfter  I 
got  through  he  smiled  calm  as  a  summer  evenin'  like — so 
to  speak — and  then  I  thought  we  was  goin'  to  have  a 
good  time.  Instid  o'  that,  he  ast  me  ef  I  war  ever  ex- 
pectin'  to  ever  go  thar,  and  then  said  that  I  ought  to  go 
thar  by  all  means  and  see  them  old  people ;  and  then  he 
sorter  hinted  agin  me  for  astin'  about  him  bein'  from  thar 
becase  he  was  mighty  partickler  to  say  that  them  old  peo 
ple  in  ginerly  was  mighty  fond  o'  tendin"  to  their  own  busi 
ness  and  lettin'  t'other  people's  alone.  Which  I  don't  have 
to  be  kicked  downstairs  befo'  /  can  take  a  hint.  And  so 
I  draps  the  subject ;  which  in  fact  I  was  obleeged  to  drap 
it,  becase  no  sooner  he  said  it  he  went  right  straight  imme- 
jantly  outen  the  sto'.  But,  thinks  I  to  myself,  says  I,  I'll 
head  you  yit,  Mr.  Lively.  I'll  find  out  sumthin'  about  you, 
ef  it  be  only  whether  that  head  o'  har  is  yourn  or  not." 


MR.    JONAS    LIVELY.  89 

"  Is  it  a  wig  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Phillimon,"  said  Mr.  Bill,  in  a  tone  intended  to  be 
considered  as  remonstrative  against  all  improper  haste — 
"  Philiminimon  Pearch,  when  a  man  is  goin'  to  tell  you  a 
interestin'  circumsance  about  a  highly  interestin'  character, 
so  to  speak,  you  mustn't  ast  him  about  the  last  part  befo' 
he  git  thoo  the  first  part.  If  you  does,  the  first  part  mout 
not  have  a  far  chance  to  be  interestive,  and  both  parts 
mout,  so  to  speak,  git  mixed  up  and  confused  together. 
Did  you  ever  read  Alonzer  and  Melissy,  Phil?  " 

I  had  not. 

"  Thar  it  is,  you  see.  Ef  you  had  a  read  Alonzer  and 
Melissy  you  would  not  a  ast  the  question  you  did.  In 
that  novyul  they  holds  back  the  best  for  the  last,  and  ef 
you  knowed  what  it  was  all  goin'  to  be,  you  wouldn't  read 
the  balance  o'  the  book ;  and  which  the  man  he  knowed 
you  wouldn't  and  that  made  him  hold  it  back.  And  which 
I  war  readin'  that  same  book  one  day,  and  Angelina 
Spouter  she  told  me  that  nary  one  of  'em  wa'n't  goin'  to 
git  killed,  and  that  they  got  married  at  the  last,  and  then  I 
jest  wouldn't  read  the  book  no  longer." 

I  was  sorry  that  I  had  asked  the  question. 

"  No,  Philmon,  give  every  part  a  far  chance  to  be  in 
terestin'.  I  give  Jonas  Lively  a  far  chance ;  but  the 
de-ficulty  war  he  wouldn't  give  me  one,  and  I  tuck  it.  I'm 
goin'  to  take  up  Mr.  Lively  all  over.  He's  a  book,  sir — a 
far  book.  I'll  come  to  his  har  in  time." 

Mr.  Bill  readjusted  himself  between  the  roots  of  the  old 
oak  so  as  to  lie  in  comfort  in  a  position  where  he  could 
look  me  fully  in  the  face. 

"  You  see,  squire,"  he  continued,  "  Cousin  Malviny 
Hodge,  she  is  sort  o'  kin  to  me,  and  we  always  calls  one 
another  cousin.  The  families  has  always  been  friendly  and 
claimed  kin,  but  I  don't  b'lieve  they  ever  could  tell  whar 


9° 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


it  started,  but  it  war  on  Cousin  Malviny's  side,  leastways 
John  Simmonses,  her  first  husband,  who  his  father  he  also 
come  from  North  Calliner.  I  used  to  go  out  thar  some 
times  and  stay  all  night ;  but  I  hain't  done  sich  a  thing 
sence  Mr.  Lively  have  been  thar.  One  thing,  you  know,  be- 
case  he  sleeps  in  the  office,  and  the  onliest  other  place  for  a 
man  to  sleep  at  thar  is  the  t'other  shed-room  on  the  t'other 
side  o'  the  pe-azer  from  Susan  Temple's  room,  and  which 
about  three  year  ago  they  made  a  kind  of  a  sto'  outen  that. 
The  very  idee  of  callin'  that  a  sto'!  It  makes  Mr.  Bland 
laugh  every  time  I  talk  about  Cousin  Malviny's  sto'!  I 
jes'  brings  up  the  subject  sometimes  jest  to  see  Mr.  Bland 
laugh  and  go  on.  Mr.  Bland,  you  know,  Philip,  is  the 
leadin'  head  pardner,  and  one  of  the  funniest  men  you 
ever  see.  Mr.  Jones  is  a  monstous  clever  man,  but  he  is 
not  a  funny  man  like  Mr.  Bland,  not  nigh." 

This  compliment  of  Mr.  Bill  to  his  employer  I  consid 
ered  proper  enough,  although  I  could  have  wished  that  he 
had  made  fewer  remarks  which  appeared  to  me  to  be  so  far 
outside  of  the  subject.  But  I  knew  that  he  lived  in  town, 
and  I  think  I  had  a  sort  of  notion  that  such  persons  had 
superior  rights  as  well  as  superior  privileges  to  mere  coun 
try  people.  Still  I  was  extremely  anxious  on  the  wig  ques 
tion.  Mr.  Bill  had  told  me  strange  things  about  wigs.  He 
assured  me  that  they  were  scalped  from  dead  men's  heads, 
and  I  did  not  like  to  think  about  them  at  night. 

"  But,"  continued  he,  "  as  I  was  a-sayin',  they  ain't  been 
no  convenant  place  for  a  man  to  sleep  thar  sence  they  had 
the  sto',  as  they  calls  it,  exceptin'  a  feller  was  to  sleep  with 
Mr.  Lively ;  and  I  should  say  that  would  be  about  as  oncom- 
fortable  and  ontimely  sleepin'  as  anybody  ever  want  anywhar 
to  anybody's  house  and  stayed  all  night.  And  which  I've 
no  idee  that  Mr.  Lively  hisself  would  think  it  war  reason 
able  that  anybody  mout  be  expected  to  sleep  with  him, 


MR.   JONAS  LIVELY.  9I 

nor  him  to  sleep  with  any  other  man  person.  When  a  old 
bachelor,  Philmon,  git  in  the  habit  o'  sleepin'  by  hisself 
for  about  fifty  year,  I  s'pose  he  sorter  git  out  o'  the  way  of 
sleepin'  with  varus  people,  so  to  speak,  and — ah — he  ruther 
not  sleep  with  other  people,  and  which — ah — well,  the  fact 
is,  by  that  time  he  ain't  fitten  too  sleep  with  anybody.  I 
tell  you,  Phlimmon  Pearch,  befo'  I  would  sleep  with  Jonas 
Lively,  specially  arfter  knowin'  him  like  I  do,  I'd  set  up  all 
night  and  nod  in  a  cheer — dinged  ef  I  wouldn't!" 

Mr.  Bill  could  not  have  looked  more  serious  and  resolute 
if  he  had  been  expecting  on  the  night  of  that  day  an  invi 
tation  from  Mr.  Lively  to  share  his  couch. 

"  Hadn't  been  for  that,"  he  went  on,  "  I  should  a  been 
thar  sooner  than  I  did.  But  arfter  he  seem  so  willin'  and 
anxious  for  me  to  go  to  North  Calliner,  I  thinks  I  to  myself 
I'll  go  out  to  Cousin  Malviny's,  and  maybe  she'll  ast  me 
to  stay  all  night,  and  then  she  can  fix  a  place  for  me  jes 
for  one  night ;  I  sposen  she  would  make  a  pallet  down  on 
the  flo'  in  the  hall-room.  So  Friday  evenin'  I  got  leaf  from 
Mr.  Jones  to  go  away  from  the  sto'  one  night.  He  sleep 
thar  too,  you  know,  and  they  warn't  no  danger  in  my  goin' 
away  for  jes  one  night.  So  Friday  evenin'  I  went  out,  I 
did,  to  supper,  and  I  sorter  hinted  around  that  if  they  was 
to  invite  me  I  mout  stay  all  night,  ef  providin'  that  it  war 
entirely  convenant ;  specially  as  I  wanted  a  little  country 
ar  arfter  bein'  cooped  up  so  long  in  town — much  as  I 
loved  town  I  had  not  got  out  o'  all  consate  for  country 
livin'  and  country  ar,  and  so  forth." 

He  knew  all  about  how  to  bamboozle  Cousin  Malviny, 
and  country  folks  generally. 

"  Cousin  Malviny  were  monstous  glad  to  see  me,  she 
say ;  and  I  tell  you,  squire,  Cousin  Malviny  are  right  jolly 
lately.  She  look  better  and  younger'n  any  time  I  seen  her 
sence  she  married  Hodge  ten  year  ago.  O  wimming,  wim- 


92  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

ming!  But  that's  neither  here  nor  thar;  you  can't  alter 
'em,  and  let  'em  go.  Cousin  Malviny  said  her  house  war 
small  but  it  war  stretchy.  I  laughed,  I  did,  and  said  I 
would  let  it  stretch  itself  one  time  for  my  accommidation. 
Then  Cousin  Malviny  she  laughed,  she  did,  and  looked  at 
Mr.  Lively,  and  Mr.  Lively  he  come  mighty  nigh  laughin' 
hisself.  As  it  war,  he  look  like  I  war  monstous  welcome 
to  stay  ef  I  felt  like  it.  As  for  Susan  Temple,  she  look 
serious.  But  that  gurl  always  do  look  serious  somehow. 
I  think  they  sorter  puts  on  that  gurl.  She  do  all  the  work 
about  the  house,  and  always  look  to  me  like  she  thought 
she  have  no  friends. 

"  Well,  be  it  so.  I  stays ;  and  we  has  a  little  talk,  all 
of  us  together  arfter  supper ;  that  is,  me  and  Cousin  Mal 
viny  and  Mr.  Lively.  Which  I  told  you  he  had  no  man 
ners.  But  never  mind  that  now;  give  every  part  a  far 
chance  to  be  interestin'.  We  has  a  talk  together,  and 
which  Mr.  Lively  are  in  ginerly  a  better  man  to  talk  to 
than  I  thought,  leastways  at  his  own  home.  That  is,  it's 
Cousin  Malviny's  home  in  cose.  Mr.  Lively  and  me  talk 
freely.  He  ast  me  freely  any  question  he  mout  please. 
Our  convisation  war  mostly  in  his  astin'  o'  me  questions, 
and  me  a-answerin'  'em.  He  seem  to  look  like  he  thought 
I  did  not  keer  about  astin'  him  any  more :  but  which  he 
did  see  me  once  lookin'  mighty  keen  at  his  head  o'  har. 
And  what  do  you  sposen  he  done  then?  He  look  at  me 
with  a  kind  of  a  interestin'  smile,  and  said  I  ought  by  all 
means  to  go  some  time  and  see  old  North  Calliner.  And 
somehow,  squire,  to  save  my  life  I  couldn't  think  o'  nothin' 
to  answer  back  to  him.  I  knowed  he  had  caught  me,  and 
I  tried  to  quit  lookin'  at  his  old  head.  The  fact  of  it  is, 
ef  Mr.  Lively  say  old  North  Calliner  to  me  many  more 
times,  I  shall  git  out  o'  all  consate  of  the  place  and  all 
them  old  people  over  thar.  Cousin  Malviny  she  sorter 


MR.   JONAS   LIVELY.  93 

smile.  She  look  up  to  the  old  man  more'n  she  used  to. 
But  you  can't  alter  'em,  and  'tain't  worth  while  to  try. 
But  I,  thinks  I  to  myself,  old  fellow,  when  I  come  here  I 
owed  you  ONE  ;  now  I  owe  you  TWO.  You  may  go  'long. 

"  Well,  arfter  awhile,  bedtime  hit  come,  and  Mr.  Lively 
he  went  on  out  to  the  office;  which,  lo  and  behold!  I 
found  that  Susan  had  made  down  a  pallet  in  Cousin  Mal- 
viny's  room,  and  I  war  to  take  Susan's  room.  I  sorter 
hated  that,  and  didn't  have  no  sich  expectation  that  the 
poor  gurl  she  have  to  sleep  on  the  flo'  on  my  account ; 
and  I  told  Cousin  Malviny  so,  and  which  I  could  sleep  on 
a  pallet  myself  in  the  hall-room.  But  Cousin  Malviny 
wouldn't  hear  to  it.  Susan  didn't  say  yea  nor  nay.  They 
puts  on  that  gurl,  shore's  you  ar  born.  But  that  ain't 
none  o'  my  business,  and  so  I  goes  in  to  the  little  shed- 
room.  And  arfter  all  I  war  right  glad  o'  that  arrangement, 
because  it  give  me  a  better  chance  for  what  I  wanted  to 
do,  and  was  determed  to  do  ef  I  could.  I  war  bent  on 
findin'  out,  ef  I  could  find  out,  ef  that  head  o'  har  which 
Mr.  Lively  had  on  his  head  war  hisn.  That's  what  I  went 
out  thar  for.  I  had  ast  him  a  civil  question,  and  he  had 
give  me  a  oncivil  answer,  and  I  war  bent  on  it  now  more'n 
ever,  becase  I  couldn't  even  look  at  his  head  without  gittin' 
the  same  oncivil  answer  and  bein'  told  that  I  ought  to  go 
and  see  North  Calliner  and  all  them  old  people  thar,  which 
I'm  beginnin'  not  to  keer  whether  I  ever  sees  'em  or  not, 
and  wish  daddy  he  never  come  from  thar.  But  I  runned 
him  to  his  holler." 

Mr.  Bill  then  rose  from  the  ground.  What  he  had  to 
say  now  seemed  to  require  to  be  told  in  a  standing  atti 
tude. 


94 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


CHAPTER    III. 

"  AND  now,  Philip,  O  Philerimon,  my  honest  friend,  and 
companion  of  the  youthful  hour,  I'm  comin'  to  the  inter- 
estin'  part ;  I'm,  a-gainin7  on  it  fast.  That  man's  a  book — 
a  far  book.  If  I  war  goin'  to  write  one,  I  should  write  it 
on  Jonas  Lively  and  the  awful  skenes,  so  to  speak,  o'  that 
blessed  and  ontimely  night.  But  in  cose  you  know,  Philip- 
mon,  I  don't  expect  to  write  no  book,  becase  I  hain't  the 
edyecation  nor  the  time.  But  now,  lo  and  behold!  it  war 
a  foggy  evenin'  and  'specially  at  Cousin  Malviny's,  whar 
you  knows  they  lives  close  onto  the  creek.  Well,  no  sooner 
I  got  to  my  room  than  I  slyly  slips  out  onto  the  pe-azer, 
and  out  into  the  yard,  and  walks  quiet  and  easy  as  I  kin  to 
the  backside  o'  the  office,  whar  thar  war  a  winder.  I  war 
determed  to  get  thar  befo'  the  old  fellar  blowed  out  his 
candle  and  got  to  bed.  I  had  seed  befo'  night  that  a 
little  piece  war  broke  out  o'  the  winder.  I  didn't  like  ez- 
actly  to  be  a-peepin'  in  on  the  old  man,  and  I  should  a  felt 
sorter  bad  ef  he  had  a  caught  me.  But  you  see,  squire, 
he  didn't  leave  me  no  chance.  I  had  ast  him  a  civil 
question ;  it  war  his  fault  and  not  mine.  My  skeerts  is 
cler." 

It  was  pleasant  to  see  my  friend  thus  able  to  rid  himself 
of  responsibility  in  a  matter  in  which  it  was  rather  plain 
that  blame  must  attach  somewhere. 

"  So  I  crope  up  thar,  I  did,  and  found  that  he  had  let 
down  the  curtin.  But  I  tuk  a  pin  and  drawed  the  curtin  up 
to  the  hole  in  the  glass,  and  then  tuk  my  penknife  and  slit 
a  little  hole  in  the  curtin,  so  I  could  go  one  eye  on  him. 
I  couldn't  go  but  one  eye ;  but  I  see  a  plenty  with  that — 


MR.    JONAS   LIVELY.  95 

a  plenty  for  one  time.  In  the  first  place,  Phlim,  thar  ain't 
a  man  in  the  whole  town  of  Dukesborough  exceptin'  me 
that  know  Mr.  Lively  is  a  smoker.  I  don't  b'lieve  that 
Cousin  Malviny  know  it.  As  soon  as  I  got  my  eye  in  the 
room  I  see  him  onlock  his  trunk,  which  it  war  by  the  head 
o'  his  bed,  and  take  out  a  little  tin  box,  which  it  have  the 
littlest  padlock  that  ever  I  see ;  and  then  he  onlock  it 
with  a  key  accordin',  and  he  tuk  out  the  onliest  lookin' 
pipe!  I  do  b'lieve  it  war  made  out  o'  crockery.  It  war 
long,  and  shaped  like  a  pitcher ;  and  it  had  a  kiver,  and  the 
kiver  it  war  yaller  and  have  little  holes,  it  'pear  like,  like  a 
pepper-box ;  and  which  it  have  also  a  crooked  stem  made 
out  o'  somethin'  black ;  and  ef  it  warn't  chained  to  his  pipe 
by  a  little  chain,  I'm  the  biggest  liar  in  and  about  Dukes- 
borough!  Well,  sir,  he  take  out  his  pipe,  and  then  he 
take  outen  the  trunk  another  little  box,  and  which  it  have 
tobarker  in  it,  all  cut  up  and  ready  for  smokin'.  Well,  sir,  he 
fill  up  that  pipe,  and  which  I  think  it  hilt  nigh  and  in  and 
about  my  hand  full  of  tobarker,  and  then  of  all  the  smokes 
which  I  ever  see  a  mortal  smoke,  that  war  the  most  tre- 
menjus  and  ontimeliest!  It  is  perfecly  certin  that  that 
man  never  smoke  but  that  one  time  in  the  twenty-four 
hours.  I  tell  you  he  war  hongry  for  his  smoke ;  and  when 
he  smoke,  he  smoke.  And  the  way  he  do  blow!  I  could 
farly  hear  him  whistle  as  he  shoot  out  the  smoke.  He 
don't  seem  to  take  no  consolation  in  his  smokin',  as  fur  as 
I  could  see,  becase  sich  everlastin'  blowin'  made  him  look 
like  he  war  monstous  tired  at  the  last.  Sich  vilence  can't 
last,  and  he  got  through  mighty  soon.  But  he  have  to  get 
through  quick  for  another  reason ;  and  which  I  ar  now 
goin'  to  tell  you  what  that  other  reason  is — that  is,  providin', 
squire,  you  keers  about  hearin'  it." 

Notwithstanding  some  capital  doubts  upon  the  legality 
of  the  means  by  which  Mr.  Bill  had  obtained  his  informa- 
7 


96  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

tion,  yet  I  was  sufficiently  interested  to  hear  further,  and  I 
so  intimated. 

"  Yes,  I  thought,"  Mr.  Bill  continued  with  a  smile,  "  that 
maybe  you  mout  wish  to  hear  some  more  about  his  carrins 
on."  But  the  account  thereafter  was  so  circumstantial  and 
prolonged  that  I  feel  that  I  should  abridge  it.  Suffice  to 
say  that  among  other  discoveries  he  made  was  the  fact  that 
Mr.  Lively,  as  suspected,  did  indeed  wear  a  wig.  He  con 
cluded  his  narrative  of  his  nocturnal  adventures  thus : 

"  By  this  time  I  war  toler'ble  cool,  and  I  crope  back  to 
the  house  and  went  to  bed.  And  I  thinks  I  to  myself,  Mr. 
Lively,  you  are  one  of  'em.  You  ar  a  book,  Mr.  Lively — 
a  far  book.  We  ar  even  now,  Mr.  Lively ;  and  which  I  laid 
thar  a  long  time  a-meditatin'  on  this  interestin'  and  ontimely 
case.  I  ast  myself,  Ar  this  the  lot  o'  them  which  has  no 
wife  and  gits  old  in  them  conditions,  and  has  no  har  on  the 
top  o'  thar  head?  Is  it  sich  in  all  the  circumsances  of 
sich  a  awful  and  ontimely  sitovation?  Ef  so,  fair  be  it 
from  William  Williams!" 

Mr.  Bill  delivered  this  reflection  with  becoming  serious 
ness.  Indeed,  he  looked  a  little  sad,  but  whether  in  con 
templation  of  possible  bachelorhood  or  possible  baldness  I 
cannot  say. 

"  The  next  mornin'  we  was  all  up  good  and  soon.  When 
we  went  to  breakfast  I  felt  sorter  mean  when  I  look  at  the 
old  man,  and  a  little  sort  o'  skeerd  to  boot.  But  he  look 
like  he  have  got  a  good  night's  rest,  and  I  have  owed  him 
somethin',  becase  I  have  ast  him  a  civil  question  and  got 
a  oncivil  answer ;  and  so  I  thinks  I,  Mr.  Lively,  you  and 
me's  about  even — only  I  mout  have  a  leetle  the  advantage. 
When  I  told  'em  all  good-bye,  I  told  the  old  man  that 
I'm  a-thinkin'  more  serous  than  ever  I'll  go  to  old  North 
Calliner  one  o'  these  days  and  see  them  old  people ;  and 
which  I  tell  you  he  look  at  me  mighty  hard.  But  what 


MR.    JONAS   LIVELY.  97 

struck  me  war  to  see  how  Cousin  Malviny  look  up  to  him. 
But  wimming's  wimming,  Philiminon.  You  can't  alter 
'em,  and  it  ain't  worth  while  to  try." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

MRS.  MELVINA  HODGE  being  destined  for  a  more  dis 
tinguished  part  in  the  Lively  Investigations  than  may 
have  been  supposed,  I  should  mention  a  few  of  her  ante 
cedents.  Some  years  back  she  was  Miss  Melvina  Perkins, 
or  rather  Miss  Malviny  Perkins,  as  she  preferred  to  be 
called.  She  had  been  married  first  to  a  Mr.  Simmons, 
who,  as  we  have  heard  Mr.  Bill  Williams  say,  was  related 
to  his  family.  Five  or  six  years  afterward  Mr.  Simmons 
died.  However  ardently  this  gentleman  may  have  been 
beloved  in  his  lifetime,  the  grief  which  his  departure  pro 
duced  did  not  seem  to  be  incurable.  It  yielded  to  Time, 
the  comforter,  and  in  about  another  year  her  name  was 
again  changed,  and  she  became  Mrs.  Malviny  Hodge. 

Persons  familiar  with  her  history  used  to  remark  upon 
the  different  appearances  which  this  lady  exhibited  accord 
ing  as  she  was  or  was  not  in  the  married  estate.  As  Miss 
Perkins  and  as  the  widow  Simmons,  she  was  neat  in  her 
person  and  cheerful  in  her  spirits  to  a  degree  that  might  be 
called  quite  gay ;  whereas,  in  the  married  relation  she  was 
often  spoken  of  as  negligent  both  in  her  dress  and  her 
housekeeping,  and  was  generally  regarded  as  being  hard 
to  please,  especially  by  him  whose  business  it  was  and 
whose  pleasure  it  ought  to  have  been  to  please  her  the 
most.  Mr.  Daniel  Hodge  had  frequently  noticed  her  with 
her  first  husband,  and  apparently  had  not  seen  very  much 
to  admire.  The  truth  was,  he  had  rather  pitied  Simmons, 


98  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

or  thought  he  had.  But  when,  about  three  or  four  months 
after  the  latter's  death,  he  happened  to  meet  his  widow, 
he  noted  such  remarkable  changes  that  he  concluded  he 
must  have  grossly  misjudged  her.  A  nearer  acquaintance, 
in  which  she  grew  more  and  more  affable,  sprightly  and 
generally  taking  in  her  ways,  tended  to  raise  a  suspicion  in 
his  mind  that,  so  far  as  his  previous  judgment  of  her  was 
concerned,  it  was  about  as  good  as  if  during  all  that  time 
he  had  been  a  fool.  Mrs.  Malviny  Simmons  had  a  way 
of  arranging  a  white  cape  around  her  neck  and  shoulders, 
which,  with  her  black  frock,  had  a  fine  effect  upon  Mr. 
Hodge.  This  is  a  great  art.  I  have  noticed  it  all  my 
life ;  and,  old  man  as  I  am,  even  now  I  sometimes  feel  that 
I  am  not  insensible  to  the  charm  of  such  a  contrast  in 
dressing  among  women,  who,  having  been  in  great  affliction 
for  losses,  have  grown  to  indulge  some  desire  to  repair  them 
in  ways  that  are  innocent. 

This  new  appreciation  of  Mrs.  Simmons  increased  with  a 
rapidity  that  astonished  Mr.  Hodge ;  the  more  because  he 
had  frequently  said  that,  if  he  ever  should  marry,  it  certainly 
would  not  be  to  a  widow.  But  we  all  know  what  such  talk 
as  that  amounts  to.  In  the  case  of  Mr.  Hodge,  it  was  not 
long  before  he  began  to  consider  with  himself  whether  the 
best  thing  he  could  do  for  himself  might  not  be  to  hint  his 
admiration  of  that  white  cape  and  black  frock  in  such  a 
way  as  might  lead  to  other  conversation  after  awhile  ;  for 
he  had  a  house  of  his  own,  a  hundred  acres  of  land,  and 
three  or  four  negroes ;  and  he  was  about  thirty  years  old. 
I  say  he  began  to  consider ;  he  had  not  fully  made  up  his 
mind.  True,  he  needed  a  housekeeper.  But  he  remem 
bered  that  the  housekeeping  at  Simmons's  in  his  lifetime  was 
not  as  it  ought  to  have  been.  His  memory  on  this  point, 
however,  became  less  and  less  distinct;  and,  when  he 
thought  upon  it  at  all,  he  was  getting  into  the  habit  of  lay- 


MR.    JONAS   LIVELY.  99 

ing  all  the  blame  upon  Simmons.  To  be  sure,  Simmons 
was  in  his  grave,  and  it  wouldn't  look  right  to  talk  much 
about  his  defects,  either  of  character  or  general  domestic 
management.  Mr.  Hodge  was  a  prudent  man  about  such 
matters  generally,  and  always  wished  to  do  as  he  would  be 
done  by.  But  he  could  but  reflect  that  Simmons,  though  a 
good-enough  fellow  in  his  way,  was  not  only  rather  a  poor 
manager,  but  not  the  sort  of  a  man  to  inspire  a  woman, 
especially  such  a  one  as  Mrs.  Malviny  Simmons  now  evi 
dently  appeared  to  be,  to  exert  her  full  powers,  whether  in 
housekeeping  or  anything  else.  In  thinking  upon  the  case, 
Mr.  Hodge  believed  that  justice  should  be  done  to  the  liv 
ing  as  well  as  the  dead,  and  that  in  the  married  life  much 
depended  upon  the  man.  This  view  of  the  case  gradually 
grew  to  be  very  satisfactory,  and  even  right  sweet  to  take. 
Not  that  he  would  think  of  doing  injustice  to  Simmons,  even 
in  his  grave ;  but  facts  were  facts,  and  justice  was  justice, 
and  it  was  now  certainly  too  late  to  think  about  altering 
the  former  in  the  t:ase  of  Simmons.  So  poor  Simmons  had 
to  lie  where  he  was,  and  be  held  to  responsibilities  that 
probably  he  had  not  anticipated. 

Mr.  Hodge  began  to  consider.  He  felt  that  there  was 
no  harm  in  merely  speculating  upon  such  things.  He 
knew  himself  to  be  prudent,  and  generally  accurate  in  his 
judgments.  But  it  was  his  boast,  and  always  had  been, 
that  whenever  he  was  convinced  that  he  was  wrong  he 
would  give  it  up  like  a  man.  This  had  actually  occurred ; 
not  very  often,  it  is  true,  but  sometimes ;  and  he  had  given 
it  up  in  such  a  way  as  to  confirm  him  more  and  more  in 
the  assurance  that  he  was  a  person  who,  though  little  liable 
to  delusion,  was  remarkably  free  from  prejudice  and  obsti 
nacy.  Probably  the  most  notable  instance  of  such  freedom 
that  his  life  had  hitherto  afforded  was  the  readiness  with 
which  he  gave  up  the  erroneous  opinions  he  had  previously 


loo  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

formed  of  Mrs.  Malviny  Simmons,  and  put  the  blame  of 
what  seemed  her  shortcomings  where  it  belonged. 

He  was  thus  considering  the  possibility  of  what  he 
might  propose  to  do  some  of  these  days,  when  Mrs.  Sim 
mons  might  reasonably  be  expected,  young  as  she  was,  to 
be  taking  other  views  of  life  besides  those  which  contem 
plated  merely  the  past.  He  knew  that  there  was  plenty  of 
time  for  the  exercise  of  mature  deliberation.  But  somehow 
it  happened  that  he  began  to  meet  the  lady  much  more  fre 
quently  than  heretofore.  Mr.  Simmons  having  left  his  wife 
in  very  limited  circumstances,  she  resided  alternately  with 
one  and  another  of  her  own  and  his  relations.  These 
people,  though  kind,  yet  seemed  all  to  be  more  than  willing 
that  Mr.  Hodge  should  have  the  benefit  of  any  amount  of 
her  society.  The  consequence  was  that,  having  such  op 
portunities,  he  was  enabled  the  sooner  to  bring  all  his 
thoughts  to  a  head ;  not  that  he  contemplated  immediate 
action,  but  was  becoming  more  and  more  fond  of  musing 
upon  possibilities.  But  one  day  he  had  looked  upon  the 
white  cape  and  the  black  frock  until  he  was  led  to  express 
himself  in  terms  that  implied  admiration.  It  was  intended 
merely  as  a  hint  of  what  might  come  some  of  these  days. 
One  word  brought  on  another.  It  would  be  impossible  to 
describe  how  Mrs.  Malviny  Simmons  looked  and  how  she 
talked.  Mr.  Hodge  was  not  a  man  of  many  words,  and  it 
gratified  him  when  she  assisted  and  accelerated  his  thoughts, 
and  even  almost  put  into  his  mouth  the  very  words  which, 
though  not  intending  such  a  thing  just  then,  he  had  been 
considering  that  he  might  employ  some  of  these  days. 
Things  went  on  with  such  rapidity  that,  before  Mr.  Hodge 
knew  what  he  was  about,  he  had  the  cape  in  his  arms,  and 
was  assured  that  it  and  the  person  it  belonged  to  were 
his  now  and  forever,  "  yea,  if  it  might  be  for  a  thousand 
year." 


MR.    JONAS   LIVELY.  IOi 

Surely,  thought  Mr.  Hodge,  no  man  since  the  days  of 
Adam  in  the  garden  had  ever  made  so  tremendous  an  im 
pression  upon  a  woman.  He  had  not  dreamed  that  such 
as  that  was  in  him.  However,  we  don't  know  ourselves, 
he  reflected ;  and  there  is  a  difference  in  men  just  as  in 
everything  else. 

One  week  from  that  day  Mr.  Hodge  succeeded  to 
Mr.  Simmons,  and  Mrs.  Malviny  went  to  keep  house  for 
Mr.  Hodge.  There  was  little  in  the  married  life  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Hodge  that  would  be  very  interesting  to  re 
late.  I  before  intimated  that  the  lady  was  most  interest 
ing  in  those  seasons  when  she  was  unmarried.  The  begin 
ning  was  splendid,  but  the  splendor  was  evanescent.  Mr. 
Hodge  was  surprised  to  notice  how  soon  his  wife  relapsed 
into  the  old  ways  and  old  looks.  He  never  should  have 
expected  to  see  that  woman  down  at  the  heels.  But  the 
laying  aside  the  black  frock  and  putting  on  colors  seemed 
to  have  had  a  depressing  influence  upon  her  tastes.  As  for 
the  housekeeping,  Mr.  Hodge  had  to  admit  to  himself  that 
plain  as  things  were  when  old  Aunt  Dilcy,  his  negro  woman, 
attended  to  them,  they  were  not  as  well  ordered  now. 
Then  he  found  that,  in  spite  of  his  conscious  superiority  to 
her  former  husband,  he  had  apparently  no  greater  success 
in  his  efforts  to  please.  At  this  he  gradually  began  to  feel 
somewhat  disgusted.  He  never  had  thought  much  about 
Simmons  in  his  lifetime ;  now  his  mind  would  frequently 
revert  to  him,  and  he  began  to  suspect  that  Simmons  was 
a  cleverer  man  than  he  had  credit  for.  It  seemed  strange 
and  somewhat  pitiful  generally  that  he  should  have  died  so 
young. 

But  he  knew  as  well  as  anybody  that  matters  could 
not  be  altered  now,  and  he  determined  to  do  the  best 
he  could.  He  worked  away  at  his  farm,  and  in  spite  of 
difficulties  made  and  laid  up  a  little  something  every  year. 


I03  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

No  children  were  born  of  the  marriage ;  but  he  did  not 
complain.  They  had  been  married  several  years  when, 
the  parents  of  Susan  Temple  having  died  and  left  her 
with  nothing,  the  relatives  generally  thought  that  Mr. 
Hodge,  who  was  as  near  akin  to  her  as  any,  and  who  had 
no  children  of  his  own,  ought  to  give  her  a  home.  Susan 
was  just  grown  up,  and,  though  plain,  was  a  very  industrious 
girl.  Mr.  Hodge  suggested  to  his  wife  that  as  the  business 
of  housekeeping  seemed  rather  troublesome  they  might  take 
Susan  for  that  business,  giving  her  board  and  clothes  as 
compensation.  At  first  Mrs.  Hodge  came  out  violently 
against  it.  Such,  however,  had  long  been  her  habit  of 
treating  all  new  propositions  of  her  husband.  He  was, 
therefore,  not  surprised ;  and  indeed  was  not  seriously  dis 
appointed,  as  he  was  acting  mostly  for  the  purpose  of  sat 
isfying  his  conscience  regarding  his  orphaned  relative.  He 
said  nothing  more  upon  the  subject  then ;  indeed,  he  had 
been  ever  a  man  of  but  few  words,  and  since  his  marriage 
he  had  grown  more  so.  Words,  he  found,  were  not  always 
the  things  to  employ  when  he  wanted  her  to  do  even  neces 
sary  offices.  After  all  his  previous  disclaimers  to  that  end, 
he  was  suspected  by  more  persons  than  one  of  having  some 
obstinacy ;  and  it  seemed  to  grow  with  the  lapse  of  time. 
He  kept  his  pocketbook  in  his  pocket,  and  his  own  fingers 
opened  and  shut  it.  Mrs.  Hodge  often  maintained  to  his 
face  that  he  was  hard-headed  as  a  mule  and  too  stingy  to 
live.  He  appeared  to  her  most  obstinate  when  she  would 
labor  in  vain  to  lead  him  into  discussions  upon  the  justice 
of  her  causes  of  complaint  against  him  generally.  One  day 
she  did  a  thing  which  Mr.  Hodge  had  been  once  as  far 
from  foreseeing  as  any  man  who  ever  married  another's 
widow.  Mr.  Simmons,  with  all  his  imperfections,  was  a 
man  who  would  sometimes  allow  to  his  wife  the  satisfaction 
of  leading  him  into  a  little  domestic  quarrel,  and  to  make 


MR.   JONAS   LIVELY.  103 

it  interesting  would  give,  or  try  to  give,  back  as  good  as  he 
got,  so  to  speak. 

However,  to  return  to  Mrs.  Hodge.  One  day,  when 
Mr.  Hodge  was  about  finishing  his  dinner,  his  wife,  who 
had  finished  hers  some  time  before,  having  but  a  poor  ap 
petite  on  that  occasion,  was  complaining  in  general  terms 
of  her  own  hard  lot.  He  ate  away  and  said  nothing. 
Once  he  did  look  up  toward  her  as  he  reached  his  hand  to 
break  another  piece  of  bread ;  and  as  he  contemplated  his 
wife's  head  for  a  moment,  he  thought  to  himself  if  she 
would  give  it  a  good  combing  the  probability  was  that  she 
would  feel  better.  But  he  said  nothing.  The  lady  did  ex 
pect  from  his  looks  that  he  was  going  for  one  time  to  join 
in  the  striving  which  had  hitherto  been  altogether  on  one 
side.  Finding  herself  disappointed,  she  brought  forth  a 
sigh  quite  audible,  and  evidently  hinted  a  more  tender  re 
gret  for  the  late  Mr.  Simmons  than  she  had  exhibited  even 
in  the  first  period  of  her  affliction  for  his  loss.  She  did  not 
exactly  name  Mr.  Simmons,  but  she  spoke  of  what  a  bless 
ing  it  was  for  people  to  have  people  to  love  'em  and  be 
good  to  'em ;  and  that  some  people  used  to  have  'em,  but 
they  was  dead  and  goned  now ;  and  people  didn't  have  'em 
in  these  days — no,  not  even  to  talk  to  'em.  And  then  she 
gently  declined  her  head,  gave  a  melancholy  sniff  with  her 
nose,  and  looked  into  her  plate  as  if  it  were  a  grave  and 
she  were  hopelessly  endeavoring  to  hold  conversation  with 
its  occupant.  Mr.  Hodge  was  on  his  last  mouthful.  He 
stopped  chewing  for  a  moment  and  looked  at  his  wife ;  then 
he  gave  a  swallow,  and  thus  answered : 

"  Oh !  you  speakin'  about  Simmons.  Yes,  Simmons  war 
a  right  good  feller ;  pity  he  died  so  young.  Ef  Simmons 
had  not  a  died  so  young,  some  people  might  a  been  better 
off." 

And  then  he  rose,  put  on  his  hat,  and  walked  to  Dukes- 


IO4 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


borough  and  back.    When  he  returned,  Mrs.  Hodge  seemed 
in  better  humor  than  she  had  been  for  weeks  and  weeks. 


CHAPTER   V. 

ON  the  night  immediately  succeeding  this  little  misunder 
standing,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hodge  happened  to  meet  upon  a 
subject  on  which  they  agreed.  It  would  be  difficult  to  say 
in  whose  mind  the  idea  first  occurred  of  having  a  little  bit 
of  a  store  in  one  of  the  little  shed-rooms.  It  was  so  con 
venient,  in  the  first  place.  Their  house  was  within  only  a 
few  steps  of  the  road,  on  the  top  of  the  first  hill  just  this 
side  of  the  creek ;  and  the  little  shed-rooms  were  in  front, 
with  little  windows  opening  toward  the  road.  On  the  night 
aforesaid  Mr.  Hodge  and  his  wife  seemed  disposed  to  be 
chatty.  Mr.  Hodge  was  gratified  that  the  allusions  to  his 
predecessor  had  so  soothing  an  effect.  They  talked  awhile 
about  their  having  no  children,  and  both  agreed  that  it 
seemed  to  be  the  lot  of  some  families  not  to  have  them. 
And  then  it  occurred  to  them  that  it  was  a  pity  that  the 
two  little  shed-rooms  could  not  be  put  to  some  use.  True, 
they  had  been  keeping  a  signboard  which  promised  "  Enter 
tainment  for  man  and  horse  "  ;  but  the  stand  was  too  near 
Dukesborough.  Besides,  Mrs.  Hodge  had  sometimes  had 
her  feelings  hurt  by  occasional  side-remarks  of  what  few 
guests  they  did  have,  about  the  height  of  the  charge,  which, 
though  reasonable  enough  generally  speaking,  seemed  ex 
orbitant  when  compared  with  the  supper,  the  bed,  and  the 
breakfast. 

On  the  night  aforesaid,  however,  it  seemed  a  fortunate 
accident  that  the  conversation  gradually  drifted  about 
Dukesborough,  its  rapid  growth,  and  the  probability  that  in 


MR.    JONAS   LIVELY.  loe) 

time  it  would  grow  to  be  an  important  place.  Already 
people  were  coming  to  the  stores  from  six  or  seven  miles 
around ;  and  it  was  believed  that  the  storekeepers,  espe 
cially  Bland  &  Jones,  were  making  great  profits.  Threats 
had  been  made  that  unless  they  would  fall  in  their  charges 
they  might  hear  of  opposition.  While  talking  together 
upon  these  things,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hodge  seemed  almost 
simultaneously  to  think  that  it  might  be  well,  in  all  the  cir 
cumstances,  to  convert  one  of  the  little  shed-rooms  into  a 
little  store.  The  more  they  turned  this  idea  over,  the  more 
it  seemed  good,  especially  to  Mrs.  Hodge.  She  was  for 
going  into  it  immediately.  Mr.  Hodge  thought  he  wanted 
a  little  more  time  for  reflection.  He  did  have  a  few  hun 
dred  dollars  which  he  had  accumulated  by  honest  work  and 
good  economy ;  but  he  was  without  mercantile  experience, 
and  people  had  told  him  that  merchants  sometimes  break 
like  other  people.  Besides,  he  should  not  think  it  prudent 
to  neglect  his  farm,  and  that  required  most  of  his  attention. 
But  Mrs.  Hodge  suggested  that  she  could  attend  to  the 
store  her  own  self.  She  could  do  it,  she '  knew  she  could. 
He  could  go  on  and  attend  to  the  farm,  and  spend  what 
time  he  could  spare  from  that  in  the  store.  Mrs.  Hodge 
reasoned  that  her  husband  had  sometimes  complained  that 
she  invested  too  heavily  even  in  the  purchase  of  necessary 
articles ;  and  here  was  an  opportunity  of  getting  all  such 
things  at  home  and  not  have  to  pay  out  one  cent  for  them, 
except,  of  course,  what  little  was  paid  out  for  them  in  the 
beginning,  and  that  would  be  lost  sight  of  in  the  general 
profits  of  the  concern. 

Mr.  Hodge  reflected. 

What  about  the  housekeeping? 

Mrs.  Hodge  in  her  turn  reflected. 

Where  was  Susan  Temple? 

There  now !      If  ever  one  question  was  well  answered  by 


I06  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

propounding  another,  it  was  in  this  case.  Mr.  Hodge  ad 
mitted  this  to  himself.  It  was  a  matter  he  had  himself  once 
proposed.  The  truth  was,  the  house  ought  to  be  kept  by 
somebody ;  and  Susan,  though  a  plain  girl,  was  known  to 
be  neat,  orderly,  and  industrious.  Mr.  Hodge  thought  to 
himself,  that,  as  his  wife's  talent  did  not  seem  to  be  in 
housekeeping,  it  might  not  be  wrong  to  let  it  make  a  small 
effort  in  the  mercantile  line.  And  so  they  agreed. 

This  was  all  right.  Susan  was  so  thankful  for  a  home 
that  she  did  her  best,  and  any  sensible  and  honest  person 
would  have  been  obliged  to  see  and  admit  that  the  house 
keeping  improved.  Everything  was  kept  clean  and  nice. 
Mrs.  Hodge,  however,  thought  that  if  she  gave  Susan  too 
much  credit  for  this  change  it  might  spoil  her.  It  was  the 
way  with  all  such  people,  she  thought.  So  she  took  all  the 
credit  to  herself,  and  would  occasionally  remind  Susan  of 
what  would  have  become  of  her  if  they  had  not  taken  her 
and  put  clothes  upon  her  back.  Susan  ought  to  be  very 
thankful,  more  so  than  she  seemed  to  be,  in  fact,  that  she 
had  not  been  left  to  the  cold  charities  of  an  unfeeling  world. 
To  make  things  under  this  head  perfectly  safe,  she  some 
times  insisted  that  Susan  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  herself  for 
not  doing  more  than  she  did,  considering  what  was  done 
for  her.  Susan,  doing  everything  as  it  was,  would  seem  to 
look  about  as  if  to  find  something  else  to  do.  Not  being 
able  to  find  it,  she  would  get  very  much  confused,  and 
seem  to  conclude  that  she  must  be  a  very  incompetent 
person. 

But  the  store.  Mr.  Hodge  went  all  the  way  to  Augusta. 
Mrs.  Hodge  would  have  liked  to  go  too ;  but  it  was  thought 
not  necessary  for  both  to  go.  So  Mr.  Hodge  went  alone, 
and  laid  in  his  stock.  A  hundred  dollars  well  laid  out 
would  buy  something  in  those  times.  Such  a  sum  goes  a 
precious  little  way  these  days.  He  brought  home  with  him 


MR.   JONAS   LIVELY.  Ioy 

some  pieces  of  calico  and  skeins  of  silk,  a  few  hats,  a  smart 
box  of  shoes,  nails,  a  barrel  of  molasses,  and  one  of  sugar ; 
some  coffee  in  a  keg,  two  or  three  jars  of  candy,  mostly 
peppermint ;  some  papers  of  cinnamon,  a  reasonable  num 
ber  of  red  pocket-handkerchiefs,  any  quantity  of  hooks-and- 
eyes,  buttons,  pins,  needles,  and  gimlets ;  a  good  supply  of 
tobacco  and  snuff,  and  one  side-saddle.  Mrs.  Hodge  had 
urged  and  rather  insisted  upon  the  last  article.  Mr.  Hodge 
hesitated,  and  seemed  to  think  it  not  a  perfectly  safe  in 
vestment  ;  but  he  yielded.  In  addition  to  this  stock  Susan 
made  ginger-cakes  and  spruce-beer.  These  sat  on  a  shelf 
outside  the  window,  except  in  rainy  weather.  Mr.  Bill 
Williams  once  brought  me  one  of  these  cakes,  and  I  thought 
it  was  as  good  as  I  ever  ate. 

Mr.  Hodge,  being  a  man  somewhat  adroit  in  the  use  of 
tools,  made  his  own  counter  and  desk  and  shelves.  It  was 
a  great  time,  when  the  goods  arrived.  It  was  after  dark, 
but  there  was  no  going  to  bed  until  those  goods  were 
opened  and  set  in  their  places.  And  oh,  how  particular 
they  were  in  handling!  Susan  must  positively  be  more 
partic'lar,  and  quit  bein'  so  keerless,  because  them  things 
cost  money.  Susan  got  to  be  so  particular  that  she  even 
handled  the  tobacco-box  and  the  coffee-keg  as  if  they  were 
all  cut-glass  containing  most  costly  liquors.  When  she  took 
the  pieces  of  calico  one  by  one  into  her  hands  and  put  them 
on  the  shelves,  you  would  have  thought  every  one  was  a 
very  young  baby  that  she  was  lifting  from  the  cradle  and 
laying  upon  its  mother's  breast.  When  the  box  of  shoes 
was  opened,  Susan  declared  that  they  actilly  smelt  sweet, 
that  they  smelt  the  sweetest  of  anything  in  that  sto'  excep- 
tin'  o'  the  cinnamon.  Mrs.  Hodge's  feelings  were  too  deep 
to  allow  very  many  words  ;  but  she  let  Susan  go  on.  Much 
as  Mrs.  Hodge  admired  everything,  she  was  most  deeply 
affected  by  the  side-saddle.  The  seat  had  a  heart  quilted 


io8  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

into  it  of  red  stuff.  This  was  so  becoming  that  Mrs.  Hodge 
declared,  and  made  Susan  admit,  that  it  was  the  loveliest 
picter  that  ever  was  loed  and  beholded.  She  said  that  that 
picter  wer  the  picter  of  her  own  heart,  and  which  it  had 
been  on  a  new  side-saddle  for  she  didn't  know  how  long. 
But  still — Mrs.  Hodge  didn't  say  any  more  about  it  then. 
She  merely  kept  caressing  the  heart  softly  with  her  hand 
until  Mr.  Hodge  placed  it  on  a  small  board-horse  which  he 
had  made  for  the  purpose,  and  set  it  in  a  corner. 

When  all  was  finished  it  was  the  unanimous  opinion  that 
nobody  could  have  had  any  reason  to  expect  that  that  shed- 
room-could  have  been  made  to  look  like  it  did  then.  If 
that  store  wasn't  carefully  locked  and  bolted  that  night! 
Susan,  who  lodged  in  the  other  shed-room,  lay  awake  for 
hours ;  but,  as  for  her  part,  she  owned  it  was  mostly  about 
the  shoes  and  the  cinnamon. 

There  was  some  talk  about  the  store  in  the  neighborhood 
for  awhile.  Some  were  for  it  and  some  against  it.  The 
Dukesborough  merchants  were  all  of  the  latter  party.  Mr. 
Bland  asked,  if  Hodge  wanted  to  set  up  in  opposition, 
why  didn't  he  come  into  town  like  a  man?  It  didn't  look 
fair  to  be  having  a  store  away  out  there  and  be  a-farming 
at  the  same  time.  But  when  he  heard  what  the  stock  con 
sisted  in,  he  pretended  to  laugh,  and  said  that  it  would 
never  come  to  anything.  Still,  some  people  said  that  Mr. 
Bland  fell  a  little  in  tobacco  and  shoes. 

A  person  in  going  along  the  road,  and  looking  upon  this 
store,  might  have  imagined  that,  apart  from  the  cakes  and 
spruce-beer,  it  had  been  established  mainly  for  the  purpose 
of  supplying  country  people  with  such  little  things  as  they 
would  be  likely  to  forget  while  in  town.  Indeed,  after  the 
novelty  had  passed  away,  it  gradually  relapsed  into  such  a 
state  of  things.  It  was  seldom  that  a  customer  stopped 
while  on  his  way  into  town.  Mrs.  Hodge's  hopes  and  reli- 


MR.    JONAS   LIVELY.  109 

ance  were  mainly  on  the  outward-bound.  When  any  of 
these  would  call,  she  was  wont  to  meet  them  with  an  ex 
pression  of  countenance  which  seemed  to  ask,  "  Well,  what 
is  it  that  you  have  forgotten  to-day  ?  "  Like  other  mer 
chants,  Mrs.  Hodge,  who  gradually  became  the  principal 
person  in  the  concern,  studied  the  chances  and  possibilities 
of  trade;  and  her  husband,  at  her  suggestion,  laid  in  his 
stock  in  the  fall  principally  of  such  articles  as  a  person 
might  be  expected  to  overlook  while  making  purchases  of 
other  more  important  things.  He  added  largely  to  his 
stock  of  pins,  and  went  very  extensively  upon  combs,  but 
tons,  and  flax  thread. 

The  side-saddle  seemed  hard  to  get  off.  But  Mrs. 
Hodge  at  the  very  start,  on  learning  the  cost,  had  declared 
that  it  was  entirely  too  cheap  ;  she  asked  for  the  pricing  of 
that  herself,  and  she  thought  she  was  warranted  in  putting 
it  at  a  high  figure.  She  had  offers  for  it.  The  heart  in 
the  seat  had  attracted  several  ladies,  and  once  it  was  within 
a  half-dollar  of  going.  But  Mrs.  Hodge,  so  far  from  fall- 
.ing,  intimated  an  intention,  upon  reflection,  of  rising,  and 
that  drove  the  customer  away. 

Upon  the  whole,  things  went  on  right  well.  Mrs. 
Hodge  certainly  improved  in  spirits ;  but  of  course  she 
never  could  attain  to  that  state  of  contentment  which  her 
husband  could  have  wished,  and  which  at  first  he  did 
fondly  anticipate.  In  the  matter  of  dressing  herself  she 
looked  up  a  little,  and  there  was  about  her  person  not 
unfrequently  the  odor  of  mingled  cinnamon  and  pepper 
mint.  And  it  must  be  remarked  that  the  displeasure  that 
it  seemed  inevitable  for  her  to  indulge  at  intervals  was  now 
divided  between  Mr.  Hodge  and  Susan  Temple,  with  the 
greater  share  to  the  latter.  Susan  did  not  reflect  nigh  as 
often  as  she  ought  what  it  was  to  her  to  have  a  home  and 
clothes  upon  her  back.  The  girl  knew  she  ought  to  do  it, 


IIO  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

and  was  everlastingly  trying  to  do  it,  and  filled  herself  with 
reproaches  for  her  own  ingratitude. 

In  one  of  his  trips  to  Augusta  Mr.  Hodge  brought  back 
with  him  Mr.  Lively.  He  had  made  his  acquaintance  some 
time  before,  and  had  mentioned  the  fact  that  the  gentleman 
had  talked  about  coming  to  take  board  with  them,  and  even 
went  so  far  as  to  propose,  in  such  an  event,  to  pay  as  much 
as  five  dollars  a  month.  This  sounded  well.  Mrs.  Hodge 
had  an  idea  that  the  having  a  boarder  might  make  the 
house  come  to  be  regarded  more  as  a  public  place ;  so  she 
said  that,  as  for  herself,  she  was  willing.  Mr.  Lively  came. 
When  he  did  come,  she  thought  he  was  certainly  the  queer- 
est  person  that  she  had  ever  seen.  She  looked  at  his  hair 
and  then  at  his  nose  and  legs,  and  then  at  his  hair  again, 
from  which  he  never  removed  his  hat,  not  even  at  meals. 
But  he  was  a  boarder,  she  knew,  and  was  entitled  to  privi 
leges.  She  tried  to  pick  him ;  but  Mr.  Lively  was  a  man 
of  some  experience  and  would  not  be  picked.  Being  satis 
fied  that  it  was  best  for  him  to  know  at  once  that  she  was 
a  person  of  consideration,  she  berated  Susan  the  very  first 
night  of  his  arrival  for  her  carelessness  and  general  worth- 
lessness. 

Messrs.  Hodge  and  Lively  got  along  together  very  well. 
The  latter,  like  the  former,  was  a  man  of  few  words ;  and 
as  time  lapsed  they  seemed  to  have  something  of  a  friend 
ship  for  each  other.  On  the  contrary,  Mrs.  Hodge  had 
less  and  less  regard  for  her  boarder  according  as  he  and 
her  husband  seemed  to  like  each  other  the  more,  and  she 
was  often  heard  to  say  that  in  her  opinion  there  was  noth 
ing  in  Mr.  Lively.  Whatever  estimate  Mr.  Lively  placed 
upon  her,  he  never  told  to  anybody ;  but  he  went  along 
and  acted  as  if  Mrs.  Hodge  and  whatever  might  be  her 
thoughts  about  him  were  not  at  all  in  his  way.  As  time 
passed,  Mr.  Hodge  would  often  sit  with  Mr.  Lively  and 


MR.    JONAS   LIVELY.  ZII 

talk  with  him  with  some  freedom  of  his  business  and  other 
matters.  Small  as  his  business  was  comparatively,  he  was 
careful  of  his  papers,  and  always  kept  them  locked  up  in 
his  desk. 

On  one  of  his  return  trips  from  Augusta,  Mr.  Hodge 
spent  a  little  more  time  than  usual  at  his  desk  in  look 
ing  over  his  papers  and  one  thing  and  another ;  but  when 
he  came  out  he  seemed  to  be  very  well  satisfied.  The 
next  day  he  was  taken  sick.  Little  was  thought  of  it 
at  first ;  but  in  a  day  or  two  he  took  on  a  fever,  which 
looked  as  if  his  time  was  coming.  He  himself  did  not  seem 
to  be  aware  of  the  state  of  the  case  until  it  was  too  late  to 
leave  any  special  directions  about  anything.  At  the  last 
he  did  rouse  himself  a  little,  looked  very  hard  at  Mr.  Lively, 
and  muttered  a  few  unintelligible  words  about  "  my  desk," 
and  Mr.  Lively's  being  "mighty  particular,"  and  such 
things.  But  at  last  he  had  to  give  it  up,  and  then  Mr. 
Hodge  carried  his  succession  of  Mr.  Simmons  to  extremes. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

So  now  here  was  Mrs.  Malviny  a  widow  for  the  second 
time.  The  deceased  was  mourned  becomingly  by  all  the 
household.  Even  Mr.  Lively  was  seen  to  brush  away  a 
tear  or  two  at  the  funeral ;  but  Mrs.  Hodge  and  Susan  did 
most  of  the  actual  crying,  and  they  cried  heartily.  Both 
felt  that  Mr.  Hodge's  continued  absence  from  that  house 
was  obliged  to  make  a  difference. 

The  question  now  was,  What  must  be  done?  Mr. 
Lively  seemed  to  think  that  Mr.  Hodge  must  have  left  a 
will,  so  he  and  Mrs.  Hodge  in  a  day  or  two  went  together 
and  looked  carefully  over  the  papers ;  and,  although  Mr. 


II2  DUKESBO ROUGH   TALES. 

Lively  followed  Mr.  Hodge's  last  confused  directions, 
nothing  could  be  found.  Mrs.  Hodge  had  nothing  to  do 
but  to  heir  the  property ;  and,  as  there  were  no  debts,  it 
was  considered  not  worth  while  to  get  out  letters  of  admin 
istration.  Seeing  that  she  was  obliged  to  take  the  respon 
sibility  of  all  this  business,  she  submitted,  and  was  very 
meek,  remarking  that  now  she  was  nothing  but  a  lone 
woman  in  the  world,  the  wide,  wide  world,  property  was  no 
great  things  in  her  mind.  But  she  thought  she  could  be 
kind  to  Susan  Temple.  Of  course,  Susan  was  nothing  to 
her,  and  it  was  an  expense  to  feed  her  and  put  clothes  on 
her  back ;  still,  she  might  stay  there  on  the  same  terms  as 
before.  People  should  never  say  that  she  had  the  heart  to 
turn  off  a  poor  orphan  on  the  cold  charities  of  the  world. 
Susan  was  very  thankful,  perfectly  overcome  with  gratitude, 
indeed,  and  continued  to  do  everything;  and,  like  Alex 
ander  the  Great,  would  almost  weep  that  there  was  noth 
ing  more  to  do.  As  for  Mr.  Lively,  he  somehow  had  got 
used  to  the  place  and  didn't  feel  like  going  away  at  his 
time  of  life  to  seek  a  new  home.  Mrs.  Hodge  also  dis 
liked  the  idea  of  turning  away  one  that  had  been  so  good 
a  friend  of  the  family;  and  indeed,  with  all  the  business 
upon  her  hands,  it  did  look  like  that  one  who  was  nobody 
but  a  poor  lone  woman  in  the  world  should  have  some 
friend  near  enough  to  go  to  sometimes  for  advice,  instead 
of  being  everlastingly  running  to  a  lawyer,  and  they 
a-charging  all  that  a  poor  lone  woman  could  make.  Mr. 
Lively  seemed  gratified,  and  thus  matters  settled  down ; 
but  all  seemed  to  miss  poor  Mr.  Hodge. 

And  now  many  years  had  elapsed  since  Mrs.  Hodge  had 
been  a  widow  before.  She  reflected  upon  it,  and  was 
thankful  that  she  could  bear  up  under  this  repeated  inflic 
tion  as  well  as  she  did,  and  that  she  was  as  strong  and  act 
ive  as  any  person  who  was  a  mere  lone  woman  in  the  world 


MR.    JONAS   LIVELY.  jI3 

could  be  expected  to  be.  The  amount  of  business  now 
upon  her  hands  would  require  as  much  strength  and  activ 
ity  as  could  be  commanded.  Her  looking-glass  had  some^ 
how  got  broken  some  time  since,  all  but  one  little  piece  in 
the  corner  of  the  frame.  Mrs.  Hodge  gave  what  was  left 
to  Susan,  remarking  that  as  for  herself  she  had  very  little 
use  for  such  things.  Some  time  afterward,  however,  she 
reflected  that  even  the  lonely  and  desolate  should  go  neatly, 
and  that  it  always  did  require  more  pains  to  dress  in  black. 
Even  Susan  admitted  this  to  be  true,  and  she  fully  justified 
her  Aunt  Malviny  in  the  purchase  of  a  new  looking-glass 
and  a  new  frock. 

Weeks  passed,  and  then  some  months.  Mrs.  Hodge's 
strength  and  activity  grew  so  that  she  began  to  feel  as  if 
they  might  be  as  good  as  ever.  Mr.  Bill  Williams  and 
others,  including  Mr.  Lively,  had  heard  her  say  that, 
although  she  knew  it  must  be  so,  yet  she  did  not  feel  any 
older  than  she  did  when  she  married  Mr.  Hodge.  It  was 
plain  to  see  that  she  was  not  willing  to  be  considered  one 
day  older  than  she  really  was ;  and  that  if  she  had  to  grow 
old  she  intended  to  do  so  by  degrees.  Her  face  certainly 
looked  somewhat  thinner  than  it  did  in  those  former  years ; 
but  in  a  short  time  even  it  began  to  participate  in  the  gen 
eral  recovery,  and  to  have  a  peachiness  which  occasionally 
extended  over  the  whole  jaw.  Remarks  had  been  made 
about  that  peachiness,  the  various  directions  it  took,  and 
the  varying  amount  of  surface  it  overspread  at  different 
times.  She  heard  of  some  of  these  remarks  once ;  they 
made  her  very  mad,  and  she  said  that  the  color  of  her 
cheeks  was  nobody  else's  business. 

The  rest  of  her  was  satisfactory.  She  had  always  been 
a  very  good  figure  of  a  woman,  and  even  now,  from  her 
neck  down,  she  was  apparently  round  as  a  butter-ball. 
And  how  spry  she  was  in  her  walk !  I  do  think  that  when 


H4  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

she  was  walking  rapidly,  at  her  usual  gait,  and  had  to  pass 
any  unpleasant  obstruction,  she  could  lift  her  skirts  as 
adroitly  as  any  lady  I  ever  knew.  And  then  she  rode  a 
horse  remarkably  well,  for  now  she  had  laid  aside  the  old 
side-saddle  and  took  the  one  with  the  heart  in  the  seat. 

This  restoration  of  her  youth  seemed  to  do  away  with 
the  melancholy  in  which  her  married  life  had  been  too 
prone  to  indulge.  She  even  became  again  gay.  I  do  not 
mean  wild;  there  was  not  a  particle  of  what  might  be 
called  wildness  about  Mrs.  Hodge.  But  apparently  she 
had  made  up  her  mind  not  to  yield  herself  up  to  useless 
regrets  for  what  could  not  be  helped,  to  do  the  best  she 
could  as  long  as  she  was  in  the  world,  and  to  stay  in  it  as 
long  as  she  could.  When  persons  come  to  these  conclu 
sions  they  can  afford  to  be  cheerful,  and  sometimes  even  a 
little  gay.  She  had  lost  one  husband.  Many  a  woman 
does  the  same  and  then  gives  up ;  and,  although  some  of 
them  reconsider  and  take  back,  yet  others  give  up  for  good. 
Mrs.  Hodge  had  put  herself  right  on  this  point  in  the  be 
ginning.  She  refused  to  give  up  at  Mr.  Simmons's  depart 
ure;  and  then,  when  another  man  who  was  at  least  as 
good,  and  even  better,  presented  himself,  she  had  nothing 
to  take  back,  and  we  saw  how  it  all  ended.  People  said, 
as  they  always  do,  that  it  was  heartless ;  but  this  gave  her 
no  concern.  And,  if  it  had,  there  was  Mr.  Hodge  to  help 
her  to  bear  it.  This  experience  was  of  value  to  her  in  this 
second  bereavement.  The  course  she  had  pursued  in  that 
first  extremity  was  so  judicious  and  turned  out  so  well,  that 
the  fact  is,  she  began  to  ask  herself  what  she  might  do  pro 
vided  another  person  of  the  opposite  sex  should  make  a 
remark  similar  to  that  which  Mr.  Hodge  had  made,  and 
which  had  so  momentous  consequences. 

But  now,  here  was  the  difference.  Men  are  more  slow 
to  make  remarks  of  that  sort  to  ladies  of  forty  or  there- 


MR.   JONAS   LIVELY.  H5 

about  who  have  already  had  two  husbands,  than  to  those 
of  five-and-twenty  who  have  had  but  one.  Mrs.  Hodge 
noticed  this,  and  it  made  the  peachiness  of  her  cheeks  in 
crease  at  times  to  such  a  degree  that  it  extended  up  to  her 
very  eyes.  Yet  the  more  she  thought  upon  the  probability 
that  another  person  might  succeed  to  the  position  which 
Mr.  Simmons  first,  and  Mr.  Hodge  afterward,  had  vacated, 
the  more  she  believed  that  an  extraordinary  amount  of 
happiness  might  result  in  such  case  to  all  parties.  She 
thought  to  herself  that  she  had  experience,  and  with  sensi 
ble  persons  that  was  worth  at  least  as  much  as  youth. 

I  have  often  heard  it  remarked,  and  indeed  my  own  ob 
servation,  I  rather  think,  affirms,  that  when  a  lady  who  has 
been  married,  especially  one  who  has  been  married  more 
than  once,  is  making  up  her  mind  to  do  so  again,  she  makes 
it  up  with  some  rapidity.  Knowing  that  she  did  not  have 
as  much  time  as  before,  she  began  to  cast  about,  and  her 
ears  were  open  to  pertinent  remarks  which  any  single  gen 
tleman  might  be  disposed  to  make.  But  both  widowers 
and  bachelors  were  scarce ;  and  what  few  there  were  either 
were  young  or  had  their  thoughts  upon  younger  ladies,  or 
possibly  did  not  understand  the  nature  of  Mrs.  Hodge's 
feelings. 

At  first  she  had  not  thought  much  about  Mr.  Lively. 
True,  he  stayed  there  and  looked  somewhat  after  out-door 
business,  and  even  advised  occasionally  about  the  store. 
For  Mrs.  Hodge  still  thought  it  best  to  keep  up  the  latter, 
though  upon  a  scale  somewhat  more  limited  than  before ; 
and,  in  the  multitude  of  the  business  matters  now  devolved 
upon  her,  she  could  not  give  her  undivided  attention  as  be 
fore  to  this  single  one.  Susan  Temple,  therefore,  who  had 
been  anxious,  as  we  have  seen,  to  find  additional  work, 
looked  after  the  store,  and  Mr.  Lively  gave  a  helping  hand 
sometimes.  Useful  as  he  was,  he  had  not  been  thought  of 


n6  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

at  first  except  as  a  mere  boarder  and  friend  of  the  family. 
Besides  his  general  want  of  attractiveness,  Mrs.  Hodge 
knew  too  much  about  him.  I  am  satisfied  that  a  too  long 
and  intimate  acquaintance  between  two  persons  of  opposite 
sexes  is  not  favorable  to  marriage  connections.  You  sel 
dom  know  a  girl  to  marry  her  next-door  neighbor's  son. 
A  notable  instance,  I  admit,  was  that  of  Pyramus  and 
Thisbe.  They  did  make  the  effort  to  marry  each  other, 
and  probably  would  have  succeeded  but  for  a  very  hasty 
and  fatally  erroneous  conclusion  of  the  gentleman  touching 
a  matter  of  fact.  But  even  taking  this  to  be  a  true  history 
and  not  a  mere  fable,  I  have  been  inclined  frequently, 
while  contemplating  this  peculiar  case,  to  maintain  that  the* 
strong  attachment  of  these  young  persons  to  each  other, 
residing  as  they  did  in  contiguous  houses,  was  owing  mainly 
to  the  fact  that  their  respective  families  assiduously  kept 
them  apart,  and  thus  they  were  able  to  court  each  other 
only  through  a  hole  in  the  dividing  wall.  But  such  cases 
are  very  uncommon,  even  in  extraordinary  circumstances. 
My  opinion  is  that,  as  a  general  thing,  persons  who  desire 
to  marry  well,  and  have  no  great  things  to  go  upon  (if  I 
may  be  allowed  to  use  such  an  expression),  do  best  by 
striking  out  at  some  distance  from  home. 

I  repeat  that,  besides  his  general  want  of  attractiveness, 
Mrs.  Hodge  knew  too  much  about  Mr.  Lively  to  be  capa 
ble  of  entertaining  a  very  hasty  and  violent  thought  of 
raising  him  to  the  succession  of  the  couple  of  gentlemen 
who  had  gone  before.  For  two  long  years  and  more  they 
had  lived  in  the  same  house,  and  long  before  this  period 
Mrs.  Hodge  had  contended  that  she  already  knew  all  about 
Mr.  Lively  that  was  worth  knowing.  Except  in  the  mat 
ter  of  his  hair,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  say  in  what 
both  she  and  Mr.  Lively  had  failed  to  find  each  other  out 
in  all  this  time.  We  never  knew  much  of  his  opinion  re- 


MR.    JONAS   LIVELY.  H7 

specting  her,  but  we  know  that  hers  respecting  him  fell  far 
short  of  extreme  admiration. 

But  time  was  moving  on,  and,  in  spite  of  Mrs.  Hodge's 
own  youthful  gayety  and  activity,  she  had  learned  to  give 
up  some  of  that  ardent  appreciation  which,  in  her  younger 
days,  she  had  set  upon  mere  external  appearances.  It 
had  come  to  be  generally  understood  that  Mr.  Lively  had 
property  somewhere  or  other  to  the  amount  of  several 
thousand  dollars.  He  was  neither  young  nor  handsome. 
But  Mrs.  Hodge  reasoned  with  herself.  She  remembered 
that  she  had  had  already  two  young  and  rather  good-look 
ing  husbands ;  and  even  if  she  had  been  younger  herself, 
she  could  not  be  expected  to  go  on  at  this  rate  and  marry  an 
unlimited  number  of  such  men.  So,  to  be  plain  with  herself, 
she  thought  she  ought  to  be  satisfied  with  what  she  had 
already  enjoyed  of  these  blessings ;  and,  to  be  yet  plainer, 
she  thought  she  might  go  further  and  fare  worse.  It  has 
always  been  a  matter  of  remark  with  me  what  an  amount 
of  prudence  some  women  can  exert  under  the  cover  of 
unlimited  frivolity.  But  I  have  no  idea  of  pursuing  this 
thought  any  further  now. 

Such  was  the  state  of  things  at  the  period  when  I  first 
introduced  Mr.  Lively  to  the  reader.  Mr.  Bill  Williams 
had  noticed,  as  he  thought,  that  his  cousin  M*alviny  was 
beginning  to  look  up  to  him. 

Nobody  knew  Mr.  Lively's  views,  either  of  Mrs.  Hodge 
or  of  the  general  subject  of  marriage.  He  had  never  been 
heard  to  say  whether  he  would  or  would  not  marry  in  cer 
tain  or  in  any  contingencies.  But,  if  he  intended  ever  to 
marry,  it  was  high  time  he  was  thinking  about  making  ar 
rangements.  This  was  all  that  people  had  to  say  about 
it.  When  Mrs.  Hodge  began  to  collect  her  scattered 
thoughts,  they  converged  upon  him  with  the  strength  and 
rapidity  usual  in  such  cases.  She  had  no  doubt  that  this 


n8  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

would  be  an  easy  conquest.  Indeed,  her  shrewd  mind 
had  guessed  that  this  was  what  Mr.  Lively  had  been  stay 
ing  there  for  all  this  while,  since  the  death  of  Mr.  Hodge. 
But  she  charged  him  in  her  mind  with  being  rather  slow  to 
take  a  hint,  after  having  several  times  pointedly  driven 
Susan  out  of  the  room,  and  with  her  looks  invited  him  to 
tell  what  she  knew  must  be  on  his  mind.  At  first  he 
seemed  slow  to  notice  all  this,  and  other  things.  A  little 
bit  of  a  something  nice  would  be  sitting  by  his  plate  every 
morning.  This  was  for  the  most  part  some  small  fish,  a 
string  of  which  Mrs.  Hodge  would  frequently  purchase 
from  a  negro  or  poor  white  boy  who  had  caught  them  the 
night  before  from  the  creek.  These  would  usually  just  be 
enough  for  Mr.  Lively.  Mrs.  Hodge  and  Susan  would 
never  accept  of  any,  and  the  former  thought  that  Mr. 
Lively  ought  not  to  have  misunderstood  the  glance  and 
the  smile  with  which  she  would  decline.  Sometimes  there 
would  be  also  beside  his  plate  a  little  sprig  of  something  or 
other,  mostly  cedar.  But  he  would  forget  to  take  it  up 
and  fix  it  in  his  buttonhole.  Women  do  not  like  for  such 
favors  and  attentions  to  pass  unregarded.  Mrs.  Hodge 
began  to  be  vexed,  and  speak  sharply  to  Mr.  Lively  and 
Susan  alternately  about  her  opinions  of  both.  She  would 
say  to  Mr.  Lively  that  in  her  opinion  Susan  was  the  most 
good-for-nothing  hussy  that  anybody  was  ever  troubled 
with ;  and  she  told  Susan  more  than  once  that  Jonas  Lively 
was  the  blindest  old  fool  that  ever  lived,  and  that  he  didn't 
have  sense  enough  to  ask  for  what  everybody  could  see 
that  he  wanted. 

Mr.  Lively,  never  or  seldom  having  been  the  object  of 
any  woman's  pursuit,  was  slow  to  understand  Mrs.  Hodge. 
The  truth  was,  he  had  become  warmly  attached  to  the 
place,  and  he  was  very  anxious  to  stay  there  and  make  it 
his  home.  At  first  he  did  not  clearly  see  Mrs.  Hodge's 


MR.   JONAS   LIVELY.  U9 

plans.  But  there  are  some  things  which  even  the  dullest 
understandings  may  be  forced  to  take  in  after  awhile.  By 
degrees  he  began  to  open  his  eyes,  to  look  around  him, 
and  to  appear  to  be  pleased.  The  single  attachment  of 
such  a  woman  as  Mrs.  Malviny  Hodge  ought  not  to  be  a 
thing  that  could  be  rudely  cast  aside  by  such  a  man  as 
Jonas  Lively.  When,  therefore,  she  began  to  press  matters 
a  little,  he  showed  very  plainly  that  he  was  not  a  fool.  And 
she  did  begin  to  press  matters.  She  had  even  gone  to 
expense.  She  sat  down  one  night  and  counted  up  what 
she  had.  spent  upon  him  in  strings  of  fish  and  other  lux 
uries,  and  found  that  it  amounted  to  eight  dollars  and 
something.  Extravagant  as  this  was,  she  determined  to 
go  further,  especially  as  her  instincts  had  taught  her  that 
there  were  at  last  some  signs  of  intelligence  and  reciproca 
tion.  Mr.  Lively  had  lately  gone  upon  his  yearly  trip  to 
Augusta,  and  had  returned  earlier  than  usual  with  some 
improvement  in  his  dress.  This  was  an  excellent  sign. 
Besides,  he  was  growing  more  communicative  with  his 
hostess,  and  occasionally  had  a  kind  word  even  for  Susan. 
Things  began  to  look  well  generally,  and  as  if  that  was  one 
undivided  family,  or  ought  to  be  and  would  be. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE  cordial  relations  in  the  household  became  more  de 
cided  after  a  little  incident  that  occurred  one  morning  be 
fore  breakfast.  Mrs.  Hodge  had  not  yet  risen  from  her 
couch ;  she  had  always  contended  that  too  early  rising  was 
not  good  for  the  complexion.  Susan,  who  had  other 
things  to  think  about  besides  complexion,  always  rose  be 
times  and  went  to  her  work.  On  this  morning,  at  about 


120  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

sunrise,  she  was  sweeping  the  store  and  readjusting  things 
there  generally.  Susan  was  an  inveterate  sweeper ;  she 
had  made  a  little  broom  of  turkey-quills,  and  was  brush 
ing  out  the  desk  with  it.  One  of  the  quills,  being  a 
little  sharpened  at  the  end  by  constant  use,  had  intruded 
itself  into  a  crack  and  forced  out  the  corner  of  a  paper 
which  had  been  lodged  there.  She  drew  the  whole  out, 
and  seeing  that  it  was  one  of  Mr.  Lively's  letters,  as  it  was 
addressed  to  him,  at  once  handed  it  to  that  gentleman, 
who  happened  to  be  standing  b.y  the  window  outside  and 
had  just  remarked  what  a  fine  morning  it  was.  Mr.  Lively 
took  the  letter,  wondering  how  he  could  have  been  so  care 
less  as  to  leave  it  there.  He  opened  it,  looked  at  the  be 
ginning  for  a  moment,  and  then  at  the  end ;  then  remark 
ing  that  it  was  all  right,  and  that  he  was  much  obliged  to 
Susan,  he  went  to  his  office.  At  breakfast  Mr.  Lively  said 
that  he  believed  he  would  ride  to  the  court-house  that  day, 
as  he  had  not  been  there  in  some  time,  but  that  he  would 
surely  return  at  night.  Mrs.  Hodge  merely  remarked  that 
she  had  given  orders  for  a  chicken-pie  for  dinner ;  but  to 
morrow  would  do  as  well,  she  supposed.  Oh  yes,  cer 
tainly;  or  Mrs.  Hodge  and  Susan  might  have  it  all  to 
themselves.  Oh  no,  no !  they  could  all  have  it  to-morrow. 
That  night,  when  he  returned  and  came  to  supper,  there 
was  a  sight  for  the  eyes  of  a  man  who  had  ridden  twenty 
miles  and  gone  without  his  dinner,  except  a  couple  of  bis 
cuits  which  Mrs.  Hodge  had  put  with  her  own  hands  into 
his  coat-pocket  in  the  morning.  On  that  supper-table  were 
not  only  fried  eggs,  but  two  sorts  of  fish,  perch  and  horny- 
heads.  Mr.  Lively  had  an  appetite,  and  these  dishes 
looked  and  smelt  exactly  right.  Uncle  Moses,  Aunt 
Dilcy's  husband,  had  been  made  to  quit  his  work  for  the 
afternoon  for  the  express  purpose  of  having  those  fish  for 
supper.  Mrs.  Hodge  looked  at  them  and  at  Mr.  Lively. 


MR.   JONAS   LIVELY.  I2i 

She  said  nothing,  but  there  was  expression  in  her  coun 
tenance. 

"Ah,  indeed?"  inquired  Mr.  Lively,  as  he  took  his 
seat. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  answered  Mrs.  Hodge. 

Even  Susan  looked  gratified ;  she  had  fried  them  every 
one.  In  spite  of  his  intense  satisfaction,  Mr.  Lively  was  a 
little  pained  that  the  ladies  should  compel  him  to  eat  more 
than  as  an  honest  man  he  considered  his  proper  share.  He 
insisted  and  insisted,  not  only  that  Mrs.  Hodge,  but  that 
Susan,  should  take  some ;  and  at  last  he  declared  that,  if 
they  didn't,  he  would  stop  eating  himself.  He  maintained 
that  people  oughtn't  to  try  to  kill  a  person  that  liked  them 
as  well  as  he  did  the  present  company,  by  trying  to  make 
him  eat  himself  to  death,  and  that,  as  for  his  part,  he 
wasn't  going  to  do  it,  because  he  felt  more  like  living  on 
in  this  little  world  now  than  he  had  ever  done.  Being  thus 
pressed,  Mrs.  Hodge  compromised.  She  agreed  that  she 
would  take  an  egg  and  a  horny-head,  or  maybe  two  horny- 
heads  ;  but  she  declared  that  she  wouldn't  tech  a  pearch : 
they  was  for  Mr.  Lively,  and  him  alone.  Susan  had  to 
come  in  that  far  also ;  Mr.  Lively  insisted  upon  it.  She 
tried  to  get  off  with  one  very  small  little  bit  of  a  horny- 
head  ;  but  it  was  no  go.  Mr.  Lively  maintained  that  there 
was  enough  perch  for  all,  and  he  made  them  both  come 
squarely  up. 

Oh,  it  was  all  so  nice!  Mr.  Lively  was  quite  chatty 
for  him.  His  visit  to  the  county  town,  the  ride,  and  the 
supper  had  all  enlivened  him  up  smartly ;  but,  after  all,  he 
didn't  see  that  the  county  town  had  any  very  great  advan 
tage  over  Dukesborough.  Dukesborough  was  coming 
along  ;  there  was  no  doubt  about  that.  As  for  himself,  he 
would  rather  live  where  he  was  living  now  than  at  the 
county  town,  or  indeed  any  other  place  he  knew  of ;  he 


I22  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

hoped  to  end  his  days  right  where  he  was.  It  would  have 
been  too  indelicate  for  Mr.  Lively  to  look  at  Mrs.  Hodge 
after  these  words,  and  so  he  looked  at  Susan.  Both  the 
ladies  looked  down ;  but  it  was  all  so  pleasant. 

By  the  time  supper  was  over,  as  it  had  been  delayed  for 
Mr.  Lively's  return,  it  was  getting  to  be  his  bedtime ;  but 
it  didn't  look  right  to  be  hurrying  off  after  such  a  supper 
as  that.  Besides,  of  late  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  lin 
gering  in  the  house  a  little  longer  of  evenings  than  formerly 
— no  great  deal,  but  a  little.  On  this  occasion  it  might 
have  been  foreseen  that  he  was  not  going  to  rush  right 
away  from  that  society. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  when  he  and  Mrs.  Hodge  had  taken 
their  seats  before  the  fireplace,  and  Susan  was  clearing 
away  the  things — "well,  they  ware  fine!  I  pity  them 
that  don't  live  on  any  sort  of  watercourse.  Fish  air  bless 
ings,  certain,  even  when  they  air  small.  Indeed,  the  little 
ones  air  about  the  best,  I  believe ;  because  they  air  as  a 
general  thing  always  fried  brown,  and  then  a  person  don't 
have  to  be  always  stopping  to  pull  out  the  bones.  Those 
we  had  for  supper  ware  fried  ex-zactly  right." 

Mrs.  Hodge  was  a  woman  who  liked  appreciation  even 
in  small  things.  "  I'm  glad  you  think  so,  Mr.  Lively.  I 
told  Susan  to  be  very  particler  about  'em,  because  I  thought 
you  loved  to  have  'em  brown." 

"  Yes,"  said  "Mr.  Lively,  with  some  emphasis ;  "  always 
when  they  air  small  and  you  don't  have  to  stop  to  pull  out 
the  bones." 

" Yes,  you  may  well  say  bones"  replied  Mrs.  Hodge — 
"fish-bones  in  particler.  Fish-bones  is  troublesome,  and 
even  dangous  sometimes.  My  grandfather  had  an  aunt  that 
got  one  in  her  throat  outen  one  o'  them  big  fish  they  used  to 
have  in  them  times,  and  it  come  nigh  of  killin'  of  her  at  the 
first  offstart ;  and  it  never  did  git  out  that  anybody  ever 


MR.    TONAS   LIVELY. 


123 


heerd  of.  And  she  used  to  have  a  heap  of  pains  for  forty 
years  arf ter,  and  she  said  she  knowed  it  was  that  fish-bone, 
and  that  it  run  up  and  down  all  over  her ;  and  even  when 
she  was  on  her  dyin'  bed  with  the  rheumatism,  and  I  don't 
know  how  old  she  war  then,  she  declared  that  it  was 
nothin'  but  that  fish-bone  that  was  a-killin'  of  her." 

"My!  my!  your  grandfather's  aunt!"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Lively,  and  he  could  not  have  looked  more  concerned  if  it 
had  been  his  own  grandfather's  aunt,  instead  of  Mrs. 
Hodge's,  who  had  come  to  such  a  tragical  end.  But  he 
reflected,,  perhaps,  that  for  some  time  past  that  relative  had 
been  relieved  of  her  sufferings,  and  then  he  looked  toward  the 
table  where  Susan  was  rapidly  clearing  away  the  things. 

"  Be  in  a  hurry  there,  Susan,"  said  Mrs.  Hodge,  in  a 
mild  but  admonitory  tone. 

"  Yes ;  fish  and  such-like's  blessin's ;  but  yit — "  Mrs. 
Hodge  couldn't  quite  make  it  out. 

Susan  hurried  matters,  I  tell  you. 

"  Oh  yes,  indeed ! "  suggested  Mr.  Lively. 

"  Yes,"  Mrs.  Hodge  admitted ;  "  but  still  fishes  and — 
livin'  on  watercourses,  and — everything  o'  that  kind's  not 
the  onliest  things  in  this  world." 

"Oh  no,  indeed!"  hastily  replied  Mr.  Lively.  "But 
still — I  suppose,  indeed  I  think — of  course  thair  must  be — 
and — "  But  at  that  moment  he  seemed  too  embarrassed 
to  think  of  what  else  there  was  in  the  world. 

"Yes,  indeed."  Mrs.  Hodge,  having  thus  recovered, 
could  proceed  a  little  further :  "  Fishes  and  such-like's 
blessin's,  I  know ;  I  don't  deny  it.  Of  cose  it  is  to  them 
that  loves  'em,  and  to  them  I  s'pose  it's  very  well  to  live 
on  watercourses.  Yit  them  and  everything  else  is  not  all 
to  every  person." 

"Oh  no,  no!  by  no  means."  He  would  not  wish  to  be 
so  understood. 


124 


DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 


"  Not  all,"  continued  Mrs.  Hodge ;  "  particler  that  a 
person  might  wish  in  a  vain  and  unglorious  world.  No, 
fair  be  it  to  them  that  has  loved  and  lost,  and  loved  and 
lost  again,  and  might  love  again  once  more,  and  that  for 
ever  and  eternally ! " 

Pen  cannot  describe  the  touching  solemnity  with  which 
these  words  were  uttered.  Mr.  Lively  was  extremely  em 
barrassed.  He  had  not  intended  to  go  very  far  that  night ; 
matters  were  so  recent.  He  looked  very  much  puzzled, 
and  seemed  to  be  trying  to  make  out  how  an  innocent  re 
mark  about  watercourses  could  have  led  them  away  so  far 
into  dry  land. 

"  Susan,"  he  called  out  confusedly,  and  looked  around. 
But  Susan  had  cleared  off  everything  and  gone  to  bed. 

Mrs.  Hodge  waited  a  moment  to  see  if  he  intended  to 
avail  himself  of  the  good  opportunity  of  saying  anything 
specially  confidential ;  but  he  was  too  confused  to  get  it 
out.  So  she  thought  she  would  venture  a  remark  about 
the  weather  that  might  reassure  him. 

"  It's  right  cool  these  nights,  Mr.  Lively." 

This  made  him  almost  jump  out  of  his  chair.  He  had 
been  remarking  only  a  day  before  how  warm  it  was  for  the 
season,  and  according  to  his  feelings  there  had  been  no 
change  since  that  time.  He  answered  as  well  as  he  could. 

"  No,  I  don't — yes — it's  right  cool — that  is,  it's  tolerable 
cool.  I  suppose — that  is,  I  expect  it  will  be  quite  cool 
after  awhile.  A — yes — I  think  a  good  rain — and  a  pretty 
strong  wind  from  the  northwest  now — would — ah,  help — 
and  ah—" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  assisted  Mrs.  Hodge,  "and  it's  about 
time  that  people  war  getting  ready  for  winter.  Thar  isn't 
anything  like  people's  bein'  ready  to  keep  theirselves  warm 
and  comfortable  in  the  cold,  cold  winter." 

Mrs.  Hodge  shrugged  her  shoulders  as  if  winter  was 


MR.    JONAS   LIVELY.  125 

just  at  the  door,  and  then  she  hugge'd  herself  up  nice  and 
tight. 

"Yes,  oh  yes,"  answered  Mr.  Lively,  somewhat  circu 
larly  ;  "  we  all  don't  know.  But  still  comforts — yes — of 
course — and  especially  in  the  winter-time." 

Mrs.  Hodge  looked  down,  her  hands  played  with  a 
corner  of  her  pocket-handkerchief,  and  she  thought  that 
she  blushed.  Mr.  Lively,  concluding  possibly  that  he  had 
carried  matters  far  enough  for  one  evening,  rose  up  and 
broke  away.  When  he  was  gone  she  said  to  herself :  "  The 
slowest,  the  very  slowest  man-person  I  ever  laid  eyes  on! " 

Although  matters  did  not  advance  with  the  rapidity  that 
might  have  been  expected,  yet  it  was  very  plain  to  Mrs. 
Hodge,  and  even  to  Susan,  that  Mr.  Lively  saw  and  ap 
preciated  the  whole  situation.  Mrs.  Hodge  knew  that  he 
was  a  steady  and  rather  a  slow  man,  but  persistent  in  his 
purposes,  and  somewhat  peculiar  in  his  ways  of  compassing 
them.  He  could  neither  be  driven  nor  too  violently  pulled. 
His  growing  cheerfulness  and  the  new  interest  he  took  in 
everything  about  the  premises  showed  that  his  expectation 
was  to  make  that  his  permanent  home.  He  even  went  so 
far  one  day  as  to  say  that  the  house  needed  repairs,  and 
that  it  must  have  them  before  very  long.  Mrs.  Hodge  and 
Susan  looked  at  each  other,  and  both  smiled.  Susan,  poor 
thing — for  of  late  her  aunt  had  grown  to  be  somewhat 
more  kind  and  considerate  of  her  feelings — seemed  to  be 
gratified  about  as  much  as  anybody.  Thus  it  is  that  a  new 
and  very  strong  feeling  toward  one  dear  object  disposes  us 
sometimes  to  feel  kindly  toward  all. 

It  was  delightful  to  see  how  pleasant  and  affable  Mr. 
Lively  could  be ;  slow  as  he  might  be,  he  was  perfectly 
affable  and  pleasant.  Mrs.  Hodge  would  have  been 
pleased  to  see  him  more  ardent ;  but  she  knew  that  was 
not  his  way,  and  she  tried  to  feel  satisfied. 


I26  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

Matters  grew  more  and  more  interesting  every  day. 
All  parties  were  perfectly  sociable.  Improvements  were 
constantly  going  on  in  Mr.  Lively's  dress.  A  great  box 
came  for  him  one  day  from  Augusta,  and  the  next  Sunday 
Mr.  Lively  came  out  in  a  new  cloth  suit.  Both  Mrs. 
Hodge  and  Susan  declared  at  breakfast  that  he  looked  ten 
years  younger ;  that  pleased  him  highly.  It  seemed  that 
thoughts  upon  marriage  had  suggested  to  him  the  notion 
of  going  back  to  his  youth  and  living  his  life  over  again. 
But  how  would  you  suppose  Mrs.  Hodge  looked  when, 
after  breakfast,  he  brought  in  a  long  paper  bundle,  laid 
it  on  the  table,  and  then  took  out  and  handed  to  her  one 
of  the  finest  black  silk  dress-patterns  that  had  ever  ap 
peared  in  that  neighborhood? — and  not  only  so,  but  but 
tons,  hooks-and-eyes,  thread,  lining,  and  binding!  Nor  had 
that  kind-hearted  man  forgotten  Susan,  for  he  handed  her 
at  the  same  time  a  very  nice  white  muslin  pattern  and  one 
of  calico.  "Oh,  my  goodness  gracious  me,  Mr.  Lively!" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Hodge;  "I  knew  it;  but — but — still  I 
— I  didn't — expect  it."  Susan  was  overpowered  too,  but 
she  couldn't  express  herself  like  her  Aunt  Malviny.  But 
she  took  the  pattern,  and  blushed  all  the  way  round  to  the 
back  of  her  neck.  It  was  her  first  present. 

And  now  those  frocks  had  to  be  made  up  right  away. 
Mr.  Lively  required  that  in  the  tone  of  a  master,  and  he 
intimated  that,  there  were  other  things  in  that  same  box. 
Mr.  Bill  Williams  was  not  so  far  wrong  when  he  said  that 
man  was  a  book. 

People  now  began  to  talk.  Already  Mr.  Bill  had  hinted 
to  several  persons  how  his  cousin  Malviny  appeared  to 
look  up  to  Mr.  Lively.  This  started  inquiry,  and  the  new 
clothes  and  youthful  looks  convinced  everybody  that  it 
was  so.  Mrs.  Hodge  began  to  be  joked ;  and,  without 
saying  yea  or  nay,  laughed  and  went  on.  Susan  was  ap- 


MR.   JONAS   LIVELY.  I2y 

preached;  but  Susan  was  a  girl,  she  said,  that  didn't 
meddle  with  other  people's  business,  and  that  if  people 
wouldn't  ask  her  any  questions  they  wouldn't  get  any  lies 
— a  form  of  denial  which  in  old  times  was  considered 
almost  as  an  affirmative.  So  here  they  had  it. 

Matters  had  come  to  this  stand  when  Mr.  Lively  deter 
mined  to  make  a  decisive  move. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

IT  so  happened  that  my  parents  had  made  a  visit,  taking 
me  with  them,  to  my  father's  sister,  who  resided  about  a 
hundred  miles  distant.  We  were  gone  about  a  couple  of 
weeks,  and  returned  on  a  Saturday  night.  I  wished  that 
the  next  day  might  have  been  the  one  for  the  monthly 
meeting  in  Dukesborough,  as  I  was  anxious,  among  other 
reasons,  to  see  Mr.  Bill,  and  inquire  about  the  parties  on 
Rocky  Creek.  The  next  afternoon  I  was  walking  alone 
in  the  grove,  and  was  surprised  and  pleased  to  see  him 
coming  up  the  road  toward  me. 

"Why,  Philip,  my  dear  friend,  you've  got  back,  have 
you?  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you.  Mammy  said  you  was  all 
to  git  back  last  night,  and  I  thought  I'd  jes'  walk  over  this 
evenin'  like,  and  see  if  you  had  come  shore  enough.  And 
here  you  are!  In  cose,  you've  heerd  the  news?  " 

"  No ;  we  got  back  last  night,  and  have  seen  no  person 
but  the  negroes.  What  news?" 

"  About  the  old  man  Jonis.  You  hain't  heerd  the  news? 
Goodness  gracious !  I'm  so  glad.  Come  along,  squire. 
I'm  so  glad." 

He  did  look  glad — even  thankful.  We  went  together  to 
our  tree. 

9 


I28  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

"And  you  hain't  heerd  it?  Goodness  gracious!  I 
thought  it  would  a  been  all  over  Georgy  before  this.  Let's 
set  down  here.  Philip  Pearch,  I  think  I  told  you  that 
Jonis  Lively  war  a  book.  I  won't  be  certing ;  but  I  think 
I  did." 

He  certainly  did. 

"  Is  it  all  over?  "  I  asked. 

Mr.  Bill  smiled  at  the  very  idea  that  I  should  have  ex 
pected  to  get  it  out  of  him  in  that  style. 

"  Don't  you  forgit  what  I  told  you,  Philip.  Philimini- 
rippip  Pearch,  let  every  part  have  a  far  chance  to  be  in- 
terestin'  accordin'  to  hits  circumsances  and  hits  warious 
pro-prowosoes." 

He  fixed  himself  as  comfortably  as  possible  among  the 
roots  of  the  old  tree,  and  thus  began : 

"  Well,  you  know,  squire,  I  told  you  that  I  seed  that 
Cousin  Malviny  war  lookin'  up  mightly  to-wards  the  old 
man ;  which  I  sposen  I  oughtn't  to  say  the  old  man  now ; 
but  let  that  go.  I  seed  that  she  war  lookin'  up  to  him, 
and  I  knowed  that  she  war  thinkin'  about  of  changin'  of 
her  conditions.  I  knowed  that  she  had  change  'em  twice 
already  befo' ;  and  wimming,  when  they  git  in  sich  a  habit, 
you  needn't  try  to  alter  'em.  When  Cousin  Malviny  have 
made  up  her  mind,  she  take  right  arfter  Mr.  Lively  with  a 
sharp  stick,  as  it  were,  as  the  sayin'  is  with  us  town  people. 
Mr.  Lively,  it  seem,  war  at  first  surprise,  and  he  rather 
hold  back.  It  appear  like  he  war  hard  to  understand 
Cousin  Malviny.  But  the  more  he  hold  back,  the  more 
Cousin  Malviny  keep  movin'  up.  Hit  were  jes'  like  one 
feller  with  two  kings,  in  draffs,  a-follerin'  of  another  feller 
with  one  king,  and  him  a-retreatin'  to  a  double  cornder. 
He  see  Cousin  Malviny  keep  sprusen  up  ;  but  he  think  he 
know  sich  things  is  common  with  widders,  and  he  have 
no  sich  idee  that  she  war  sprusenin'  up  so  for  him.  But 


MR.   JONAS   LIVELY.  !29 

byn-bye  he  begin  to  spnisen  up  hisself,  and  to  get  new 
clothes ;  and  he  war  monstous  free  and  friendly  like  with 
Cousin  Malviny,  and  begin  to  talk  about  what  ought  to  be 
done  about  fixin'  up  the  house  and  things  in  ginilly ;  and 
it  seem  like  he  and  Cousin  Malviny  war  movin'  up  toler'ble 
close:  and  I  hain't  seed  Cousin  Malviny  so  spry  and 
active  sence  she  war  a  widder  befo',  and  that  war  when  I 
warn't  nothin'  but  a  leetle  bit  of  a  boy. 

"Well,  things  kept  a-goin'  on,  and  everybody  see  that 
they  war  obleeged  to  come  to  a  head,  and  that  soon,  be- 
case  people  knowed  they  was  both  old  enough  to  know 
thar  own  mind  ;  and  both  of  'em  a-livin'  in  the  same  place, 
everything  was  so  convenant  like.  Mr.  Lively  begin  to 
spend  his  money  free.  He  have  bought  new  clothes  for 
hisself,  and  he  have  bought  a  fine  silk  dress  for  Cousin 
Malviny,  and  he  even  went  so  far  as  to  give  a  right  nice 
muslin  and  a  caliker  to  Susan.  Stick  a  pin  right  thar,  Pe- 
lomenenon,  my  friend.  Oh,  he's  a  book!  The  very  day 
you  all  went  away,  a  man  come  thar  from  Augusty  and 
fotch  a  bran  new  gig,  and  two  fine  bedstids,  and  a  bureau 
and  cheers.  And  he  never  say  a  word  to  Cousin  Malviny 
till  they  got  thar,  and  he  have  all  the  furnitoor  put  in  the 
office ;  and  Cousin  Malviny  war  delighted,  and  didn't  ast 
him  anything  about  it,  becase  she  know  he  war  a  man  of 
mighty  few  words,  and  didn't  do  things  like  t'other  people 
nohow,  and  didn't  keer  about  people  astin  him  too  many 
questions — which  /  could  a  told  her  the  same.  When  all 
this  got  thar,  people  know  what  was  a-comin' ;  leastways 
they  think  they  do.  As  for  me,  I  war  lookin'  out  every 
day  for  a  invite. 

"And  now,  lo  and  behold!  The  next  mornin'  I  war 
woke  up  by  daylight  by  wheels  a-rattlin' ;  and  our  nigger 
boy,  who  war  makin'  me  and  Mr.  Jones's  fire,  he  went  to 
the  door,  and  he  come  back  and  he  say  that  it  war  Mr. 


130 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


Lively  in  a  new  gig,  and  he  have  a  female  in  thar  along 
with  him,  and  which  she  have  on  a  white  dress  and  a  veil, 
but  which  he  know  it  war  Cousin  Malviny  Hodge,  and  they 
went  a-scootin'  on.  Thinks  I  to  myself,  and  I  says  to  Mr. 
Jones,  what's  the  reason  they  can't  git  married  at  home  like 
t'other  people?  And  Mr.  Jones  he  say  that  considerin' 
they  war  both  toler'ble  old  people,  they  was  in  a  monstous 
hurry  from  the  way  the  wheels  was  a-rattlin' ;  and  which 
they  'minded  him  of  what  old  Mr.  Wiggins  said  in  his 
sarmints  about  rushin'  along  Gallio-like,  a-keerin'  for  none 
o'  these  things.  Shore  enough,  they  goes  on  to  Squire 
Whaley's  at  Beaver  Dam,  and  thar  they  git  married. 

"  I  have  just  git  up  from  breakfast  at  Spouter's,  when, 
lo  and  behold !  here  come  that  gig  a-drivin'  up  nigh  and  in 
and  about  as  fast  as  it  come  by  the  sto'.  I  know  that  they 
was  in  for  a  frolic  that  day,  and  was  bent  on  havin"  of  it, 
and  I  laughed  when  I  see  'em  a-comin'.  When  they  got 
to  the  tavern-door,  Mr.  Lively  he  hilt  up  his  horse,  and  it 
war  nice  to  see  how  spry  the  old  man  hop  outen  the  gig 
and  hand  out  his  wife.  And  she,  why  she  farly  bounce 
out,  and  bounce  up  and  down  two  or  three  times  arfter  she 
lit!  I  says  to  myself,  Cousin  Malviny  she  think  now  she 
about  sixteen  year  old.  She  have  on  her  white  veil  till 
yit,  and  clean  till  she  got  in  the  house. 

" '  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Williams?  '  says  he  to  me  when 
I  follered  in ;  'a  very  fine  morning,'  says  Mr.  Lively. 
Says  I,  '  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Lively ;  or  mout  I  now  say 
Cousin  Jonis?  A  fine  mornin'  indeed,  I  sposen,  to  you, 
sir,  and  'specially  for  sich  pleasant  bizness.  I  wishes  you 
much  joy,  Mr.  Lively,  and  also  Cousin  Malviny.  But,' 
says  I,  '  I  did  spect  a  invite,  and  I  wants  to  know  what 
made  you  two  run  away  in  that  kind  o'  style ;  for  I  calls 
it  nothin'  but  runnin*  away,  and  I  can  but  ast  myself  who 
is  they  runnin'  away  from,  and  who  can  be  runnin'  after 


MR.   JONAS   LIVELY.  !3! 

'em?  Why  didn't  you  have  the  frolic  at  home,  Cousin 
Malviny?  '  says  I.  And  then  she  ansered  me.  I  tell  you, 
Philinipinimon,  she  ansered  me ! " 

Mr.  Bill  paused,  and  seemed  waiting  for  me  to  question 
him  further.  "Why  didn't  they  marry  at  home,  then?  "  I 
inquired. 

"  Ah,  yes ;  well  mout  you  ast  that  question,  my  friend 
of  the  sunny  hour.  When  you  ast  that  question  yur  talkin' 
sense.  Well,  I'll  tell  you.  One  reason  why  they  didn't 
was  becase  they  couldn't." 

"They- couldn't?" 

"  Couldn't.  Onpossible.  Jest  as  onpossible  as  if  it  had 
been  a  bresh-heap  and  it  afire." 

"  But  why  not?  " 

"  Becase  Cousin  Malviny  wouldn't  a  been  willin'."  This 
was  answered  almost  in  a  whisper. 

"  Well,  that  is  funny." 

"  Fun  to  some  people  and  death  to  the  t'others." 

"  Why,  I  should  think  she  would  rather  marry  at  home." 

"  She,  I  think  you  said,  Philip?  " 

"Yes.     She." 

"  Well,  Philmon  Pearch,  will  you  jes'  be  kind  and  conde- 
scendin'  enough  to  tell  me  who  it  is  you're  speakin'  about 
at  the  present?  " 

"Why,  Mrs.  Hodge,  of  course!" 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bill  in  apparently  great  surprise. 
"  Oh  yes ;  Cousin  Malviny.  Yes.  Well,  I  sposen  Cousin 
Malviny,  reasonable  speakin',  she  mout  ruther  git  married 
at  home,  providin'  in  cose  that  people  has  got  homes  to  git 
married  at.  I  should  ruther  suppose  that  Cousin  Malviny 
mout  some  ruther  git  married  at  home." 

"Well,  why  didn't  she  do  it  then?  " 

"  Do  what?  "  Mr.  Bill  seemed  to  be  growing  very  much 
abstracted. 


132 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


"  Get  married,"  said  I,  quite  distinctly. 

"  Git  married !    Ah  yes.    Git  married.    To  who,  Philip?  " 

"  To  Mr.  Lively.     What's  the  matter  with  you,  Mr.  Bill?" 

Mr.  Bill  slowly  elevated  his  eyes  until  they  looked  into 
the  zenith,  and  then  he  lowered  them  again. 

"Oh!  Mr.  Lively!  Well,  when  Mr.  Lively,  he  got 
married — you  see,  Philip,  when  Mr.  Lively  he  got  married, 
Cousin  Malviny,  she  warn'/  thar" 

I  could  have  put  both  my  fists  into  Mr.  Bill's  mouth, 
and  there  still  would  have  been  room. 

"  Wrhat! "  I  exclaimed.  "  Didn't  Mr.  Lively  marry  Mrs. 
Hodge?  " 

Mr.  Bill  rose  upon  his  feet,  bent  his  head  and  knees  for 
ward,  and  roared : 

"  Na-ee-ii-o-oh-woH! " 

"  What!     Then  they  didn't  get  married  after  all?  " 

"  Yes,  they  did." 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Bill?  Did  Mr.  Lively 
get  married?  " 

"  Certing  he  did.  Ef  any  man  ever  got  married,  Mr. 
Jonis  Lively  got  married  that  same  mornin'." 

"  Who  did  he  marry,  then?  " 

"  Se-oo-woo-woosen! " 

"Who?" 

"  See-oo-woo-woosen,  Tem-em-pem-pemple.  Susan! 
Temple!" 

"Susan  Temple!" 

"  Yes,  sir,  it  war  Susan  Temple ;  and  I  didn't  have  not 
the  slightest  consate  of  sich  a  thing  tell  she  lift  up  her  veil 
and  I  see  her  with  my  own  blessed  eyes  spread  out  in  all 
her  mornin'  glories,  so  to  speak.  Didn't  I  tell  you,  Phile- 
rimon  Pearch,  that  that  blessed  an'  ontimely  old  feller  war 
a  book?  I'm  not  so  very  certing,  but  I  ruther  think  I 
did." 


MR.   JONAS  LIVELY.  !33 

"  But  what  about  Mrs.  Hodge?  " 

"Ah  now,"  said  Mr.  Bill  sadly,  "now,  Philip,  you'r  astin' 
sensible  questions,  but  monstous  long  ones.  You  must  let 
me  git  over  that  first  awful  and  ontimely  skene  befo'  I  can 
anser  sich  long  questions  as  them  about  poor  Cousin  Mal- 
viny.  Them  questions  is  civil  questions,  I  know,  and  I 
shall  anser  'em ;  but  they're  mighty  long  questions,  Philip, 
and  a  body  got  to  have  time.  Ain't  he  a  book?  Come 
now,  Philippippimon,  my  honest  friend,  you  astes  me 
questions ;  and  far  play,  I  astes  you  one.  Ain't  he  a 
book?  ". 

I  could  but  admit  that,  if  ever  man  was,  it  was  Mr. 
Lively. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

I  HAD  to  let  Mr.  Bill  expatiate  at  length  upon  his  sur 
prise  and  that  of  the  public  at  this  unexpected  match  before 
I  could  bring  him  to  the  finale.  Mr.  Bill  admitted  that  he 
was  at  first  not  only  embarrassed,  but  speechless.  He 
never  had  expected  to  live  to  see  the  day  when  he  should 
be  in  that  condition  before  Susan  Temple.  But  such  it 
was.  We  never  know  what  is  before  us.  The  longer  a 
man  lives  to  see  anything,  the  more  he  finds  that  it  is  a 
solemn  fact  that  he  can't  tell  what  he  may  live  to  see. 
He  had  never  been  so  minded  of  that  as  at  the  present ; 
"  leastways  "  on  that  blessed  and  "  ontimely  "  morning. 

"  When  I  got  so  I  could  open  my  mouth,"  said  Mr.  Bill, 
"  in  cose  I  feel  like  I  ought  to  say  somethin',  even  ef  it  war 
but  a  few  lines,  and — ah — some  perliminary  remarks — so 
to  speak.  So  I  goes  up  to  Mr.  Lively,  I  does,  and  I  says 
to  him:  'Mr.  Lively,'  says  I,  'you  has  took  us  all  by 
surprise.  And  you  more  so,  Susan,'  says  I ;  '  which  I 


134 


DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 


sposen  I  ought  to  say  Miss  Lively,  but  which  it  is  so  on- 
expected  that  I  begs  you'll  excuse  me.'  And  then  I  ast 
'em,  I  does,  ef  Cousin  Malviny  know  of  all  sich  carrin's  on. 
Susan  she  looked  skeerd.  And  I  tell  you,  Philippimon, 
that  gurl  look  right  scrimptious  with  them  fine  things  on 
and  them  shoes.  But  Mr.  Lively  war  cool  as  a  kercomber, 
or,  what  I  mout  ruther  say,  a  summer  evenin'  like,  and  he 
said  that  he  sposen  not.  Then  he  say  that  he  had  stop  to  git 
his  breakfast,  him  and  Susan,  and  that  arfter  breakfast  they 
was  goin'  out  thar ;  but  also  that  he  war  first  goin'  to  git 
Mr.  Spouter  to  send  Cousin  Malviny  word  what  had  be 
come  of  'em,  and  that  they  was  all  safe,  for  he  said  he  was 
afeerd  his  Aunt  Malviny  might  be  oneasy  about  'em.  And 
then  I  tells  Mr.  Lively  that  ef  it  suited  him  I  would  go 
myself.  I  tell  you,  Philip,  I  wanted  to  car'  that  news  out 
thar.  Mr.  Lively  he  sorter  smile,  and  say  he  would  be 
much  obleege  ef  I  would.  I  hurries  on  to  the  sto',  tells 
Mr.  Jones  what's  up,  and  gits  leave  to  go  to  Cousin  Mal 
viny  ;  and  I  mighty  nigh  run  all  the  way  out  thar. 

"  Cousin  Malviny  war  standin'  at  the  gate.  When  I  git 
about  twenty  yards  from  her  I  stop  to  catch  a  little  breath. 
Cousin  Malviny  holler  out  to  me,  'Has  you  seen  'em, 
Cousin  William?  '  I  tried  to  be  calm  and  cool,  and  I  astes 
Cousin  Malviny  to  be  calm  and  cool.  And  I  says, '  What's 
the  matter,  Cousin  Malviny?  Ar  anything  wrong  out 
here?  Seed  who?'  'Susan,' says  Cousin  Malviny,  'and 
Mr.  Lively,  and  Uncle  Moses.'  '  Uncle  Moses ! '  says  I ; 
'  have  Uncle  Moses  gone  too  ? '  '  Yes,'  says  Cousin  Mal 
viny  ;  '  I  sent  Moses  on  John  mule  to  look  for  'em  when 
I  heerd  they  was  gone.'  At  the  very  minnit  here  come 
old  Uncle  Moses  a-trottin'  on  up  on  John  mule ;  and  I 
don't  know  which  war  the  tiredest  and  solemest,  John  or 
Uncle  Moses.  Cousin  Malviny  astes  Uncle  Moses  what 
news.  '  Bad,  missis,'  said  Uncle  Moses,  '  bad  nuff.  You 


MR.   JONAS   LIVELY.  !35 

see,  missis,  when  you  tole  me  git  on  top  o'  John  an'  take 
arter  'em,  I  thought  fust  they  was  gwine  todes  Augusty,  but, 
missis,  time  I  got  to  the  creek  and  t'other  side  whar  the 
roads  forks,  I  gits  off,  I  does,  off  en  John,  and  looks  close 
to  the  ground  to  find  track  of  'em  an'  which  road  they 
tuck.  Day,  hit  jes'  begin  to  crack  a  leetle  bit ;  and  bless 
your  soul,  missis,  they  hadn't  been  thar.  I  rode  on  back 
tell  I  got  to  our  cowpen  right  yonder ;  and  shore  nuff  they 
has  been  done  got  down,  let  down  the  draw-bars,  gone 
round  the  cowpen,  let  down  the  fence  up  yonder  ontoo  the 
road  agin,  back  up  yonder,  and  gone  on  todes  Dukes- 
borough.  I  tracks  'em  in  that  field  thar  same  as  Towser 
and  Loud  arter  a  possum.' 

"  Cousin  Malviny  tell  Uncle  Moses  to  let  possums  alone 
and  go  on.  '  Yes,  missis.  I  war  jest  tellin'  how  dee  let 
down  our  draw-bars  an'  went  through  behind  the  cowpen 
yonder,  an7  got  ontoo  the  road  agin  an  whipt  on  to  town.' 
But,  Philip,  I  couldn't  stop  for  Uncle  Moses  to  tell  his 
tale ;  it  war  always  astonishin'  to  me  how  long  it  do  take  a 
nigger  to  tell  anything.  So  I  tells  Uncle  Moses  to  go  'long 
and  put  up  his  mule,  and  feed  him  to  boot,  and  hisself  too, 
as  I  seed  they  was  both  of  'em  hongry  and  tired,  and  that 
I  knowed  all  about  it  and  would  tell  Cousin  Malviny  my 
self.  And  so  I  did  tell  her  the  upshot  of  the  whole  busi 
ness.  And  oh,  my  honest  friend,  ef  you  ever  see  a  person 
rip  an'  rar,  it  war  Cousin  Malviny ;  she  came  nigh  an'  in 
an'  about  as  nigh  cussin'  as  she  well  could,  not  to  say  the 
very  words.  But  which  you  know  she  ar  a  woming,  and 
kin  to  me — leastways  we  claims  kin ;  and  you  mustn't  say 
anything  about  it.  When  I  told  her  they  was  comin'  back 
arfter  a  little,  she  declared  on  her  soul  that  they  shouldn't 
nary  one  of  'em  put  their  foot  into  her  house  ef  she  could 
keep  'em  from  it ;  and  it  look  like,  she  said,  she  ought  to 
be  mistiss  of  her  own  house.  Well,  I  war  natchelly  sorry 


I36  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

for  Cousin  Malviny,  an'  I  astes  her  ef  Mr.  Lively  have 
promise  to  marry  her.  Cousin  Malviny  say  that  no,  he 
didn't  in  ezactly  them  words ;  but  he  have  bought  furni- 
toor,  an'  talk  in  sich  a  way  about  the  place  an'  everything 
on  it  as  ef  he  spected  to  own  it  hisself ;  and  she  war  spectin' 
him  to  cote  her,  and  then  she  war  goin'  to  think  about  it 
when  he  did  ast :  not  that  she  keerd  anything  about  him  no 
way ;  and  now  sense  he  had  done  gone  and  made  a  fool 
o'  hisself,  and  took  up  with  that  poor,  good-for-nothin' 
Susan  Temple,  he  mout  go ;  and  as  for  comin'  into  her 
house,  she  would  set  Towser  and  Loud  arfter  him  first. 
Now  I  know  that  war  all  foolishness  ;  and  specially  about 
them  dogs,  which  I  knowed  they  was  bitin'  dogs,  and  which 
I  wouldn't  a  gone  out  o'  that  house  that  night  I  stayed  thar 
ef  I  hadn't  knew  that  Uncle  Moses  have  went  possum- 
huntin' ;  but  which  I  told  Cousin  Malviny  that  them  dogs 
warn't  goin'  to  pester  Mr.  Lively  nor  Susan,  becase  they 
knowed  'em  both  as  well  as  they  knowed  her.  We  was 
inside  the  gate,  and  we  was  jest  a-startin'  to  go  to  the 
house  when  here  drive  up  Mr.  Lively  and  Susan.  '  Here, 
Towser!  here,  Loud!'  hollers  out  Cousin  Malviny,  'here, 
here ! '  Says  I  to  Cousin  Malviny,  '  Cousin  Malviny,  ef 
them  dogs  bites  anybody  here  to-day,  it's  a-goin'  to  be 
me ;  and  I  hopes  you  will  stop  callin'  of  'em.'  But  bless 
your  soul,  my  friend  Philipiminon,  them  dogs  was  round 
by  the  kitchen,  and  they  heerd  Cousin  Malviny  and  they 
come  a-tarin'  and  a-yellin'.  As  soon  as  they  turned  the 
corner  o'  the  house,  I  seed  they  thought  I  was -the  person 
they  was  to  git  arfter.  I  jumps  back,  I  does,  and  runs 
through  the  gate  and  shets  it.  'Sick  'em,  Towser!  Sick 
'em,  my  boys,'  says  Cousin  Malviny — the  foolishest  that 
I  think  I  ever  see  any  sensible  person  ever  do  sense  I 
war  born ;  but  Cousin  Malviny,  all  the  eyes  she  had  war 
upon  Mr.  Lively,  and  he  war  a-gittin'  out  of  the  gig,  cool 


MR.   JONAS  LIVELY.  !37 

and  calm,  and  he  give  Susan  the  reins  to  hold.  '  Sick  'em, 
my  boys!'  kept  hollerin'  Cousin  Malviny,  outen  all  reason. 
Well,  sir,  lo  and  behold !  while  old  Towser  war  at  the  gate 
a-rippin'  and  a-roarin'  to  git  out,  Loud  he  run  down  about 
thirty  steps  whar  thar  war  a  rail  off  the  yard  fence,  and  he 
lit  over  and  he  come  a-chargin'.  I  says  to  myself,  ef  here 
ain't  a  responchibility  nobody  ever  had  one,  and  the  only 
way  I  has  to  git  outen  it  is  to  clime  that  gate-post.  So  I 
hops  up,  one  foot  on  a  rail  of  the  fence,  hands  on  the  gate 
post,  and  t'other  foot  on  one  of  the  palin's  o'  the  gate.  I 
war  cljmbin"  with  all  that  bein'  in  a  hurry  that  you  mout 
sposen  a  man  in  my  present  sitooation  would  know  he  have 
no  time  to  lose.  I  has  done  got  one  foot  on  top  o'  the 
fence,  and  war  about  to  jerk  the  t'other  from  between  the 
gate  palin's,  when  old  Towser  he  grab  my  shoe  by  the  toe, 
inside  the  yard,  and  the  next  minute  Loud  he  have  me  by 
my  coat-tails  outside. 

"  At  this  very  minute  Mr.  Lively  have  farly  got  down 
from  the  gig ;  and  when  he  seed  Loud  have  me  by  my 
last  coat-tail  (for  he  have  done  tore  off  t'other),  he  rush  up, 
gin  him  a  lick  with  his  hickory-stick,  and  speak  to  Towser, 
and  they  let  me  go.  Bless  your  soul,  Philip !  I  war  too 
mad  to  see  all  what  follered.  Both  o'  my  coat-tails  was 
tore  pretty  well  off ;  and  hadn't  been  for  my  shoes  bein' 
so  thick,  an'  tacks  in  'em  to  boot,  I  should  a  lost  one  of 
my  toes,  and  maybe  two.  When  I  got  sorter  cool  I  see 
Mr.  Lively  tryin'  to  show  Cousin  Malviny  a  paper,  and 
call  her  aunty.  When  she  hear  Mr.  Lively  call  her  aunty, 
Cousin  Malviny,  who  have  been  a-ravin'  all  this  time,  she 
say  that  war  too  much ;  and  then  she  go  in  the  house,  and 
sink  in  a  chair  and  call  for  her  smellin'  phial,  and  tell  'em  to 
put  her  anywhar  they  wants  to,  ef  it  even  war  her  grave. 
She  give  up  farly  and  squarly. 

"  Come  to  find  out,  Mr.  Lively,  while  I  war  gittin'  back 


138  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

my  temper  and  bein'  sorter  cool — for  I  tell  you,  boy,  I 
war  never  madder  in  my  life — Mr.  Lively  have  been  a-tellin' 
Cousin  Malviny  what  I'm  now  a-tellin'  of  you,  that  that 
place  and  everything  on  it  belong  to  him  now  as  the  hus 
band  o'  Susan ;  and  which  they  have  jes'  t'other  day  found 
Hodge's  will,  which  he  have  hid  away  in  that  desk ;  and 
which  Hodge  he  give  everything  thar  to  Susan  and  Cousin 
Malviny  jintly,  ontell  Cousin  Malviny's  death,  and  arfter- 
ward  the  whole  to  Susan ;  and  which  he  have  pinted  Mr. 
Lively  his  Ezecketer;  that  is  a  law  word,  Philipip — a- 
meanin'  that  somebody  arfter  a  man  dies  have  got  to  tend 
to  the  business  in  ginerly. 

"  And  now,  Philip,  I  tell  you  that  Mr.  Lively  is  a  right 
clever  old  man  arfter  all.  He  is  from  old  North  Calliner, 
shore  nuff ;  and  away  long  time  ago  he  have  a  plantation 
thar,  and  once  goin'  to  marry  a  gurl  over  thar,  long  time 
ago,  but  she  took  sick  and  died.  And  then  once  he  got 
low-sperited  like,  and  sold  out  and  move  to  Augusty  and 
buy  prop'ty,  and  make  more  money  and  buy  more  prop'ty, 
tell  he  got  to  be  worth  twenty  thousand  dollars  at  least 
calc'lation.  Did  you  ever  see  sich  a  man? 

"  Well,  he  got  tired  livin'  in  sich  a  big  place,  and  he 
want  to  git  back  in  the  country.  But  somehow  he  don't 
feel  like  goin'  back  to  old  North  Calliner ;  and  then  he  git 
acquainted  with  Hodge,  and  he  heern  about  Dukesborough, 
and  so  he  come  here.  Well,  arfter  Hodge  he  died, 
Cousin  Malviny,  you  see,  she  think  about  changin'  her  con 
ditions  again,  and  they  ain't  no  doubt  but  she  take  arfter 
Mr.  Lively.  She  deny  it  now;  but  wimming  can't  fool 
me.  Well,  Mr.  Lively  he  git  somehow  to  like  the  place 
and  don't  want  to  go  away  from  it ;  but  he  see  somethin's 
obleeged  to  be  done ;  and  he  have  always  like  Susan,  becase 
he  see  Cousin  Malviny  sorter  put  on  her  so  much.  Hodge 
war  sorry  for  Susan  too,  and  he  use  to  talk  to  Mr.  Lively 


MR.   JONAS  LIVELY.  !3g 

about  her ;  and  he  tell  Mr.  Lively  that  ef  he  died  he  war 
goin'  to  'member  her  in  his  will.  But  shore  nuff  they 
couldn't  find  no  will,  and  Mr.  Lively  he  sposen  that  Hodge 
done  forgot  Susan ;  and  so  he  make  up  his  mind  to  cote 
her,  and  ef  she'd  have  him  he  mean  to  buy  out  the  prop'ty 
even  if  he  have  to  pay  too  much  for  it.  So  he  go  to  cotin' 
Susan  the  first  chance  he  git ;  and  Susan,  not  spectin'  she 
war  ever  goin'  to  be  coted  by  anybody,  think  she  better 
say  yes,  and  she  say  yes.  It  war  a  quick  cotin'  and  a  quick 
anser.  But  lo  and  behold!  Susan  found  in  the  sto'  one 
day  a  paper,  and  she  give  it  to  Mr.  Lively ;  and  Mr.  Lively 
see  it  war  Hodge's  will,  as  I  tell  you.  But  this  didn't  alter 
Susan ;  for  when  the  old  man  told  her  about  it,  and  say 
he'd  let  her  off  ef  she  wanted  to,  Susan  say  she  don't  want 
to  be  let  off ;  and  you  now  behold  the  conshequenches. 

"And  now,  Philip,  what  make  I  tell  you  he's  a  right 
clever  old  feller  is  this :  when  Cousin  Malviny  have  sorter 
come  too,  and  understan'  herself  and  the  sitooation  she 
war  in,  Mr.  Lively  call  Susan  in ;  for  I  tell  you  that  gurl 
war  not  for  gittin'  out  o'  that  gig  till  matters  got  cooler. 
And  then  Mr.  Lively  tell  Cousin  Malviny  that  she  mout 
stay  right  whar  she  war,  and  that  he  war  goin'  to  fix  up 
her  house,  and  she  mout  keep  her  same  room,  only  it  should 
have  new  furnitoor,  and  he  would  fix  another  room  for 
him  and  Susan  ;  and  he  war  goin'  to  find  everything  hisself, 
and  she  shouldn't  be  at  no  expense ;  and  ef  she  got  mar 
ried  he  would  give  her  more'n  the  will  give  her  in  money, 
and  she  mout  will  away  her  intrust  into  the  bargain  and  he 
would  pay  it  in  money  ;  only  Mr.  Lively  say  that  sto'  must 
be  broke  up,  and  he  will  pay  her  down  in  cash  twice  what 
the  stock  war  worth.  Arfter  all  this,  Cousin  Malviny  gin 
up  for  good,  and  call  for  Susan.  Susan  went  to  her,  and 
they  hugged ;  and  Cousin  Malviny  she  laughed,  and  Susan 
she  cried.  I  could  but  notice  them  two  wimming.  Hit 


I4.o  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

was  the  first  time  them  two  wimming  ever  hugged,  and  I 
couldn't  but  notice  the  difference.  One  of  'em  was 
a-laughin'  and  one  was  a-cryin' ;  and  which  I  couldn't  see 
the  use  nor  the  sense  of  nary  one.  But  wimming's  wim 
ming,  and  you  can't  alter  'em. 

"  But  it  war  time  I  war  leavin'  and  goin'  back  to  my 
business.  Thar  business  war  not  mine.  I  bids  them  wim 
ming  good-bye ;  and  I  astes  Mr.  Lively,  ef  it  war  not  too 
much  trouble,  to  see  me  throo  the  gate  and  safe  from  them 
dogs ;  becase  I  told  Mr.  Lively  I  didn't  want  to  hurt  them 
dogs,  but  I  wanted  'em  not  be  pesterin'  o'  me  no  more. 
Mr.  Lively  he  go  with  me  about  a  hundred  yards ;  and  as 
I  war  about  to  tell  him  good-bye,  I  says  to  Mr.  Lively, 
says  I,  '  Mr.  Lively,  it  'pear  like  you  has  plenty  o'  money ; 
and  I  don't  sposen  that  you  think  people  ought  to  lose  any 
thing  by  'tending  to  your  business,  when  it's  none  o'  theirn. 
Well,  Mr.  Lively,  it  seems  like  somebody  by  good  rights, 
reasonable  speakin',  somebody  ought  to  pay  for  my  coat- 
tails  ;  for  you  can  see  for  yourself,  that  ef  this  coat  is  to 
be  of  any  more  use  to  me  it's  got  to  be  as  a  round  jacket ; 
and  all  this  business  whar  it  got  tore — and  I  come  mon- 
stous  nigh  gittin'  dog-bit — war  none  o'  mine,  but  t'other 
people's ;  and  it  seem  like  I  ought  to  git  paid  by  some 
body.'  Mr.  Lively  smile  and  say  '  of  cose,'  and  asts  me 
about  what  I  sposen  them  coat-tails  was  worth ;  and  I  tells 
him  I  don't  think  two  dollars  and  a  half  was  high.  And 
then,  Philip,  ef  he  didn't  pull  out  a  five-dollar  bill  and  give 
me,  I  wish  I  may  be  dinged! 

"  And  then,  what  do  you  sposen  that  blessed  and  on- 
timely  old  man  said  to  me  ?  Says  he,  '  Mr.  Williams,  you 
did  lose  your  coat-tails,  and  come  very  nigh  being  badly 
dog-bit  while  looking  on  at  business  which,  as  you  say, 
was  not  yours.  You've  got  paid  for  it.  When  you  were 
out  here  before,  Mr.  Williams,  you  took  occasion  to  look 


MR.   JONAS  LIVELY.  I4I 

at  some  other  business — oh,  Mr.  Williams,  I  saw  your 
tracks,  and  you  told  on  yourself  next  morning  at  breakfast. 
Towser  and  Loud  were  then  gone  with  Uncle  Moses  pos 
sum-hunting.  Sup-pose  they  had  been  at  home,  and  had 
caught  you  in  the  dark  at  my  window.  Don't  say  any 
thing,  Mr.  Williams,  but  let  this  be  a  lesson  to  you,  my 
young  friend.  There's  more  ways  than  one  of  paying  for 
things.  I  advise  you  not  to  talk  about  what  you  saw  that 
night  to  any  more  people  than  you  can  help.  I  am  not 
anxious  to  fool  people,  and  haven't  done  it ;  but  I  would 
ruther  pepple  wouldn't  dog  me  about.  You  see  how  un 
pleasant  it  is  to  be  dogged,  and  what  Loud  got  for  med 
dling  with  your  coat-tails.  But  he  didn't  know  any  better. 
You  do,  or  ought  to.  Let  Loud's  be  a  example  to  you, 
Mr.  Williams.  Good-day,  Mr.  Williams.'  And  he  left  me 
befo'  I  could  say  a  single  word. 

"  Now,  Philip,  I  war  never  so  much  nonplushed  in  all 
my  born  days ;  and  which  when  he  talk  about  how  Loud 
mout  be  an  ezample,  I  knowed  what  he  mean,  becase 
which  I  don't  have  to  be  knock  downstairs  befo'  I  can 
take  a  hint.  But  you  see,  under  all  the  circumsances,  I 
think  it's  maybe  best  not  to  say  anything  about  the  old 
man's  har.  Not  as  I  keer  for  his  old  hickory-stick,  becase 
thar's  plenty  o'  hickories  in  the  woods ;  but,  it  mout  git 
you  into  difficulties ;  and  ef  it  was  to  do  that,  I  should  jest 
feel  like  I  ought  to  take  the  responchibility,  and  I  should 
do  it.  So  le's  keep  still.  I  hain't  told  nobody  but  you 
and  Mr.  Jones ;  and  he's  a  man  of  injghty  few  words  any 
how,  and  he  ain't  goin'  to  talk.  So  le's  let  the  old  man 
go,  and  not  interrupt  him,  and  wish  him  much  joy  of  his 
young  wife.  Poor  Cousin  Malviny  !  But  she  look  peert 
as  ever.  I  see  her  yistiday,  and  she  look  peert  as  old 
Molly's  colt.  But  wimming's  wimming,  Philip,  and  you 
can't  alter  'em." 


OLD  FRIENDS  AND  NEW. 


CHAPTER   I. 

MR.  RICHARD  PARKINSON  sat  by  his  fireside  on  an  even 
ing  in  the  fall  of  the  year.  He  was  of  about  five-and-forty 
years,  and  in  good  vigor.  His  fine  face,  with  the  large 
brown  eyes  that  saw  for  themselves,  and  his  tall,  unbent 
form,  showed,  in  spite  of  a  few  gray  hairs  among  his  glossy 
black  locks,  that  time  had  dealt  lightly  with  him.  Fond  of 
the  chase,  his  horn  and  his  hounds  were  wont  to  be  heard 
at  least  twice  a  week  in  the  hunting  season.  In  pursuit  of 
the  fox  no  whoop  more  loud  and  clear,  no  steed  more  swift 
and  sure,  than  those  of  Mr.  Parkinson.  But  this  very 
morning  he  and  his  hounds  had  their  usual  sport.  In  the 
back  piazza  hung  the  fox-tail,  his  trophy ;  and  now  he  was 
waiting  for  the  return  of  the  servant  with  his  mail. 

There,  also,  sat  Mrs.  Richard  Parkinson.  If  the  husband 
seemed  young  for  his  age,  the  wife  seemed  younger  for 
hers.  Forty  times  had  she  seen  the  year  come  and  go.  If 
you  had  not  known  that,  you  would  have  supposed,  except 
for  one  thing,  that  she  could  not  be  beyond  thirty. 

I  say  except  for  one  thing.  That  was  her  daughter 
Lucy,  who  was  approaching  her  nineteenth  birthday. 

A  prettier  or  a  sweeter  girl  could  not  have  been  found 
anywhere  in  middle  Georgia.  She  was  about  of  the  middle 
height.  Her  form  was  slender,  yet  not  wanting  of  sufficient 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW.  !43 

fullness.  Her  hair  was  of  a  color  properly  compounded  of 
the  jet-black  of  her  father's  and  the  fair  of  her  mother's. 
And  how  plenteous  it  was!  If  she  was  vain  of  her  hair, 
as  before  the  mirror  in  making  her  morning  toilet  she 
gathered  it  in  her  white  hand,  almost  too  small  to  grasp  the 
luxuriant  wisp,  and  led  it  round  and  round  and  round  until 
it  sat  upon  that  fine  head  an  ornament  of  glory,  no  right- 
minded  person  would  have  blamed  her.  Hazel  were  her 
eyes,  large  like  her  father's,  though  not  lustrous  as  his,  but 
soft,  liquid,  deep.  Her  skin  was  fair,  and  her  cheeks, 
though  not  habitually  rosy,  indicated  perfect  health.  Her 
mouth — oh,  dear  me !  — I  have  not  the  time,  nor  at  my  age 
the  talent,  to  describe  minutely  just  such  a  girl  as  Lucy 
Parkinson.  I  can  only  repeat  that  I  never  saw  a  sweeter 
or  prettier  in  all  my'  life — not  even  in  middle  Georgia  in 
the  times  when  I  was  a  boy. 

The  last  personage,  and  least  of  the  group,  was  Jack  Par 
kinson,  then  ten  years  old.  His  light  hair  and  complexion, 
and  stout,  square  form,  so  unlike  his  father's,  had  led  that 
gentleman,  in  the  infancy  of  this  his  only  male  offspring,  to 
cal  him  a  Fort.  For  Mrs.  Parkinson  before  her  marriage 
was  Miss  Susan  Fort.  The  Forts  were  as  much  below  the 
middle  height  as  the  Parkinsons  were  above  it.  Then  the 
Forts  were  very  fair,  while  the  Parkinsons  were  brown. 
When  Richard  Parkinson  and  Susan  Fort  were  married, 
the  disparity  of  the  couple  was  the  theme  of  much  plea 
sant  jesting. 

On  the  night  of  the  wedding,  Mr.  Parkinson  the  elder, 
Richard's  father,  was  said  to  have  perpetrated  the  only,  or 
at  least  the  best,  joke  of  his  life.  For  he  had  ever  been  a 
serious  person,  as  most  men  of  his  extreme  length  are.  He 
had  been  observed  to  look  with  much  earnestness  upon  the 
couple  while  the  ceremony  was  going  on.  When  it  was 
over  his  countenance  relaxed  into  an  expression  indicating 


144 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


remote  cheerfulness.  He  nudged  the  fat  side  of  old  Mr. 
Fort,  near  whom  he  was  standing,  and  then,  having  lowered 
his  head  until  he  could  whisper  into  the  latter's  ear,  said, 
"Archie,  a  black  crane  and  a  white  guinea-chicken.  Good 
cross,  ain't  it?  "  At  which  Mr.  Archibald  Fort  laughed 
vehemently.  Doubtless  his  hilarity  was  the  greater  because 
he  had  been  so  far  from  expecting  any  such  thing  from  Mr. 
John  Parkinson.  So  Mr.  Fort  laughed  and  shook  his  sides, 
and  was  enabled  at  length  to  say  emphatically,  Yes,  he  did, 
blamed  if  he  didn't!  After  this  Mr.  John  Parkinson  went 
up  again  to  his  native  height  and  dignity,  and  stayed  there. 
But  Mr.  Fort,  more  than  once  afterward  and  during  the 
evening,  was  heard  to  say,  after  a  silent  shake,  "  I  didn't 
think — upon  my  word,  I  didn't  think  it  was  in  him."  But 
this  little  prophetic  jest  of  the  elder  Parkinson,  while  it  did 
meet  with  a  verification  in  Lucy,  who  combined  the  physi 
cal  characteristics  of  her  parents  with  improvement  on  both 
the  original  stocks,  seemed  to  have  been  lost  on  Jack,  who, 
from  the  day  of  his  birth  until  now,  had  shown  himself  to 
be  all  Fort.  Mr.  Parkinson  used,  therefore,  in  comparing 
his  two  surviving  children  with  each  other,  to  say  that  Lucy 
was  a  Parkinson  but  Jack  was  a  Fort. 

So  there  they  sat  by  the  fireside,  these  four,  and  a  snug 
little  family  they  made.  Little  Jane  was  not  there,  it  is 
true — little  Jane,  who  was  Jack's  junior  by  two  years,  and 
his  playmate.  She  had  been  gone  two  years.  Her  depart 
ure  had  cast  a  shadow  on  all  hearts  there,  but  mostly  on 
the  mother's.  But  time  and  heaven  had  brought  much 
consolation,  and  the  mother  had  enough  of  love  for  those 
who  survived  to  make  her  life  yet  very  happy. 

It  was  a  snug  little  family.  Jack  was  the  main  talker 
to-night.  He  had  been  in  the  fox-chase  that  morning  for 
the  first  time.  A  noted  rabbit-hunter  he  was,  but  had 
never  been  allowed  until  this  morning  to  follow  the  fox. 


OLD   FRIENDS  AND   NEW.  I45 

All  day  he  had  been  full  of  the  great  things  of  the  morning. 
His  mother  and  sister  had  been  to  town  and  had  not  re 
turned  until  night,  so  his  triumphs  had  to  be  recounted 
during  the  day  only  to  the  negroes.  To-night,  when  the 
supper  was  over,  they  expressed  a  desire,  upon  a  wink  from 
his  father,  to  hear  something  about  the  race.  It  was  a 
spirited  narrative.  The  ladies  were  delighted  to  hear  him 
declaim  upon  the  performances  of  the  pack.  Old  Rock 
would  keep  before  and  Little  Rock  wouldn't  stay  behind. 
Terror  was  the  first  to  see  him,  and  when  he  did  you  might 
have  heard  him  two  miles.  But  at  that  very  minute,  Da 
mon,  a  rascal  who  was  two  hundred  yards  off,  knowing  the 
fox's  ways,  cut  across  and  got  in  ahead.  Once,  and  it  was 
after  an  hour's  run,  quarry  doubled  so  that  for  awhile  they 
thought  they  had  lost  him ;  but  old  Pluto  went  back  and 
circled,  until  suddenly  lifting  his  head  toward  the  sky  and 
howling  out  a  scold  and  a  triumph,  carried  it  off  again. 
But  the  puppies  Jeff  and  Matt,  they  were  the  fellows! 
They  made  more  fuss  than  any  four  dogs  there,  not  know 
ing,  in  his  opinion,  what  was  up  until  they  saw  him ;  for  the 
little  fools  had  run  off  twice  after  rabbits,  and  this  was  the 
very  thing  that  had  bothered  them.  And  that  pony: 
didn't  he  enjoy  it!  He  knew  what  they  were  after  as  well 
as  anybody. 

Jack,  having  finished  the  narrative,  and  finding  it  not 
interesting  to  his  hearers  to  tell  it  more  than  once,  grew 
sleepy  and  went  to  bed.  At  that  moment  the  servant 
brought  in  the  mail — a  letter  and  the  weekly  newspaper. 
The  letter  was  a  long  one.  While  Mr.  Parkinson  was 
reading  it,  Lucy  glanced  over  the  paper  and  read  items  of 
news  in  a  subdued  tone  to  her  mother.  When  her  father 
had  finished,  he  laid  the  letter  on  the  table  and  looked 
musingly  into  the  fire. 

"  It  is  quite  a  long  letter  you  have,"  said  his  wife. 


146  DUKESBOROUGII   TALES. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.     "  He  is  coming,  sure  enough." 
"  Who?  "  asked  both  ladies  at  once. 
"  Overton." 


CHAPTER   II. 

GEORGE  OVERTON  was  a  Virginian,  from  the  town  of 
Staunton.  From  this  section  the  Parkinsons  had  emigrated 
to  Georgia  thirty-five  years  before.  After  some  correspond 
ence  it  was  agreed  that  the  young  man  should  repair  to  Mr. 
Parkinson's  and  remain  until  he  could  find  an  opening  for 
his  purpose,  which  was  to  become  a  lawyer.  Meanwhile, 
as  it  was  further  understood,  Overton,  as  compensation 
which  he  insisted  upon  making  in  some  way  for  this  kind 
ness,  was  to  superintend  the  studies  of  Jack  Parkinson. 

This  service  had  been  performed  heretofore  for  Jack  as 
well  as  possible  by  his  sister.  She  had  been  well  educated, 
considering  the  times,  at  Savannah.  But  Lucy  Parkinson 
by  experience  had  found  out  a  truth  which  it  is  surprising 
how  slow  many  parents  are  to  discover :  that  very  few  chil 
dren,  especially  male,  can  be  well  educated  without  having 
companions  in  their  studies.  Jack  Parkinson,  who  was 
uncommonly  good  and  sensible  for  an  only  son  of  a  man 
of  some  wealth,  was  not  an  exception  to  this  rule.  Lucy, 
after  about  a  year's  trial,  was  disposed  to  give  him  up  as  a 
pupil,  provided  that  anything  better  could  be  done  in  his 
case. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  George  Overton  proposed  to 
come  to  Georgia ;  and  as  he  had  shown  a  very  decided 
desire  to  get  some  occupation  for  the  time  that  must  be 
spent  in  his  legal  studies,  it  occurred  to  Mr.  Parkinson  to 
propose  to  him  to  keep  a  small  school  in  a  house  which  he 
would  build  upon  his  own  ground,  and  to  which  he  knew 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW.  !47 

that  several  of  his  neighbors  would  be  glad  to  send  their 
children.  To  this  proposition  Overton  consented  readily. 
The  room  was  built,  and  the  school  was  to  be  opened  at 
the  beginning  of  the  year. 

The  new  teacher  arrived  late  in  December.  He  was 
pleased,  and  so  were  the  Parkinsons,  only  Jack  was  a  little 
shy ;  he  had  heard  something  of  schoolmasters.  Mr.  Par 
kinson  could  not  but  allow  to  himself  that  his  having  come 
from  Virginia  was  much  in  his  favor.  Then  he  knew  that 
he  was  of  good  family.  Yet  he  must  stick  to  the  principles 
of  the  old  Virginia  Parkinsons,  and  let  his  judgment,  or  the 
utterance  of  it,  wait  awhile.  The  young  man's  looks  and 
behavior  were  all  right.  He  was  tall,  and  slender,  and 
graceful,  and  strong.  He  was  polite,  easy,  and  good- 
humored. 

On  his  travel  throughout  the  afternoon  he  had  been  put 
into  a  satisfied  mood  from  admiring  the  country,  which  at 
that  time  was  so  fresh  and  strong.  Very  much  of  the 
primeval  forest  was  then  standing ;  and,  though  the  leaves 
had  fallen  from  the  trees,  the  magnificent  growth  of  oak, 
interspersed  with  the  poplar,  and  maple,  and  chestnut,  and 
gum,  and  short-leaf  pine,  filled  his  eye  with  admiration. 
A  servant  with  a  gig  had  met  him  at  the  county  town  and 
driven  him  out  to  Chestnut  Grove,  as  Mr.  Parkinson  had 
named  his  residence.  On  the  way  he  had  speculated  much 
upon  what  manner  of  place  it  was  that  was  to  be  his  tem 
porary  home.  His  blue  eye  brightened  as  the  driver 
turned  from  the  road  and  drove  up  through  the  long  avenue 
of  chestnuts.  The  house  was  a  well-built,  square,  two-story 
building,  with  two  wings  of  one  story  proceeding  in  a  line 
with  the  rooms  in  the  rear.  The  yard  of  about  four  acres 
was  inclosed  with  a  board  paling.  Overton  noticed  the 
foremost  of  a  row  of  negro  cabins,  which,  beginning  at 
some  distance  behind  the  mansion,  extended  backward  and 


I4g  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

fronted  the  garden.  There  was  but  little  shrubbery  in  the 
front  yard ;  the  forest  growth  allowed  little  room  for  any 
other  form  of  tree  or  flower.  There  were  two  or  three 
cedars,  but  the  flower-bushes  were  mainly  in  the  garden. 

There  was  an  air  of  thorough  gentility  about  this  place, 
though  the  mansion  was  of  some  years'  standing,  and  was 
a  little  brown  for  the  lack  of  fresh  painting.  It  had  a 
proud  but  not  inhospitable  look,  that  mansion.  As  the  gig 
drove  up,  the  huge  oaken  gate  was  opened  by  several  little 
negroes,  whose  sleek  faces  and  active  forms  showed  that 
they  were  both  well-fed  and  happy. 

Until  that  afternoon  Overton  had  not  known  of  Lucy 
Parkinson.  He  felt  all  the  gratification  which  an  educated 
and  well-bred  man  must  have  in  making  the  acquaintance 
of  such  a  young  woman.  When  the  evening  was  over  and 
he  had  retired  to  his  chamber,  he  sat  long  by  the  fire  and 
mused.  It  was  so  strange  to  be  so  far  and  rather  an  exile 
from  home,  yet  to  be  so  free  from  repining.  Thoughts  of 
home  became  interwoven  with  those  of  the  new  persons 
among  whom  he  was  thrown,  of  their  cordiality  and  gen 
tility,  and  their  evident  interest  in  him  and  his  purposes. 
For  some  time  he  yielded  to  these  various  emotions,  and 
then  retired  to  his  bed. 

"  I  like  him  so  much,"  said  Lucy,  after  he  had  retired. 

"  I  do  believe  we  have  done  the  best  thing  for  Jack," 
said  the  mother.  Jack  looked  as  if  he  thought  matters 
might  be  much  worse. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Parkinson,  "  he  has  the  manners  and 
breeding  of  a  gentleman.  His  father's  family  was  all  right. 
I  don't  know  who  his  mother  was ;  but  he  does  seem  to 
be,  and  I  think  is,  a  gentleman." 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE  schoolhouse,  a  neat  little  framed  building,  was  situ 
ated  about  half  a  mile  from  Mr.  Parkinson's  residence,  near 
the  roadside,  and  on  a  knoll  of  land  at  the  foot  of  which 
was  a  spring  of  water.  All  schoolhouses  in  those  days 
must  be  near  springs.  Oh,  those  old  springs  in  the  granite 
region  of  middle  Georgia ! 

In  this  place  George  Overton  began  his  simple  work. 
The  consciousness  of  having  a  very  superior  education, 
considering  those  times,  had  precluded  all  apprehension 
of  unfitness  for  the  small  duties  of  a  country  schoolmaster ; 
but  all  at  once  he  felt  a  seriousness  that  was  surprising  to 
himself. 

About  twenty  boys  and  girls  were  there  already.  Among 
these  were  some  of  our  acquaintances  of  Goosepond  times. 
There  were  Amanda  Grizzle,  Henrietta  Bangs,  Amelia 
Jones,  among  the  girls ;  and  William  Jones,  Samuel  Pate, 
Asa  Boatright,  and  Abel  Kitchens,  among  the  boys. 

In  a  little  while  he  looked  over  their  books,  set  them  their 
tasks,  and  began  to  walk  to  and  fro,  ruminating  on  the 
strangeness  of  his  new  position.  While  thus  engaged,  he 
noticed  an  elderly  woman  riding  toward  the  house.  When 
she  had  approached  within  a  few  paces  of  the  door  she 
stopped,  and  asked  if  she  could  see  the  schoolmaster.  He 
took  his  hat  and  walked  out  to  her,  following  several  steps  as 
she  led  him  on ;  then  she  pointed  to  a  lad  who  was  leaning 
on  the  fence  in  the  road  at  some  distance  from  them. 

"  That's  my  son,"  she  said.  "  Law  bless  me!  I  do  be 
lieve  I  forgot  to  say  good-mornin'.  Excuse  my  manners, 
sir,  if  you  please  ;  but  that  boy  that  you  see  standin'  yonder 
is  my  son,  and  he's  the  onliest  child  I  have  in  this  world." 


T50 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


Overton  looked  at  the  boy  for  a  moment,  and  turned 
again  to  the  mother. 

"  Now  I  see,"  she  began  again,  "  I  see  that  you  don't 
know  what  I  mean  and  what  I'm  talkin'  about :  do  you, 
or  don't  you?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  quite  understand  you,  my  good  lady ; 
but  if  you  mean  that  you  have  not  the  means  to  send  him 
to  school,  but  would  like  to  do  so — " 

"  Thar  now!  I  knowed  he  didn't  understand  me.  I  do 
want  to  send  him  to  school  for  a  quarter,  ef  no  more.  I 
hain't  much,  that's  a  fact,  but  yit  I  can  pay  for  it,  and 
wouldn't  by  no  means  wish  to  have  him  teached  for  nothin'. 
Oh  yes,  I  can  pay  for  it ;  but  that  ain't  the  thing.  The 
question  is,  will  you  take  him?  Now,  you  must  mind  what 
you  goin'  to  say,  because  I  wants  to  take  no  'vantage  of 
nobody.  I  can  pay  for  it  if  you'll  take  him." 

Overton  smiled,  and  answered,  "  Certainly  I  will  take 
him,  my  dear  madam.  Why  not?  " 

"  Ah,  that's  it !  — why  not.  Because  he's  done  gone  and 
fout  one  schoolmarster  already,  and  the  onliest  one  he  ever 
went  to ;  and  have  sorter  disgraced  hisself.  I  thought 
maybe  you  might  heerd  about  it,  as  you  was  a-boardin'  at 
Mr.  Parkson's ;  which,  though  they  are  rich,  yit  they  know 
us,  and  has  been  monstous  good  to  us,  specially  Miss  Park- 
son  and  Lucy ;  and  they  knows  that  boy  ain't  a  bad  boy 
nately ;  yit  we,  that  is,  him  and  me,  we  thought  that,  spe 
cially  bein'  of  a  schoolmarster  yourself,  you  might  not  like 
no  sich,  under  no  circumstances  whatsomever ;  which  I  my 
self  sposen  I  wouldn't  ef  I  was  a  man,  and  was  high  larned 
and  war  a  schoolmarster ;  and  which  we  also,  him  and  me, 
we  thought  maybe  you  hadn't  heerd  about  it,  and  that  we 
ought  to  tell  you  ef  you  hadn't ;  and  I  made  him  stay 
yonder  till  I  told  it  myself,  because  I  knowed  I  could  tell 
it  better'n  he  could." 


OLD    FRIENDS   AND   NEW.  jgi 

"I  suppose  this  is  Mrs.  Glisson?  "  said. Overton. 

"  Yes,  sir.  Law  bless  me !  I  been  talkin'  to  the  man 
ail  this  time  and  never  even  told  him  who  I  war.  Yes,  sir, 
I'm  her ;  that's  my  name,  and  I'm  his  mother ;  and  I  tell 
you,  sir,  that  he  war  not  so  mighty  much  to  blame  as  you 
mout  suppose.  I  know  that  as  I  am  his  mother,  and  he's 
my  onliest  child,  it's  reasonable  that  I  should  take  his  part ; 
but  which  I  don't  believe,  indeed  I  don't  believe  I  would 
take  his  part  if  I  knowed  he  war  in  the  wrong,  Mister — 
Mis — ter — " 

"  Overton  is  my  name." 

"  Yes,  sir.  Law  me !  I  knowed  what  it  war,  but  I  for 
got  it  at  the  minit.  Excuse  my  manners,  sir,  if  you  please. 
I  knowed  it ;  Lucy  and  little  Jack  Parkson  both  told  me, 
and  they  are  both  mighty  good  children.  Lucy,  of  course, 
she's  a  grown  young  woman  now,  and  the  smartest  and 
prettiest,  and  the  best  to  old  people  and  poor  people  of  any 
girl  in  all  this  country,  and  is  jes'  exactly  like  her  mother 
war  before  her.  Oh  yes,  I  knowed  your  name,  but  I  for 
got  it  at  the  minit.  Well,  now,  Mr.  Overton,  you  see  that 
boy  a-standin'  yonder?  Well,  though  I  say  it  that  oughtent, 
he's  nately  as  biddable  a  boy  and  as  obedient  to  them  that's 
above  him,  as  anybody's  child,  I  keer  not  whomsoever  they 
mout  be.  And  he  tried  to  git  along  with  the  schoolmarster, 
and  he  studied  his  lessons  every  night  of  his  life  till  I  made 
him  go  to  bed,  and  up  before  day  every  mornin',  and  the 
man  wouldn't  be  satisfied,  and  made  the  child  go  beyant 
hisself  in  his  books ;  and  then  he  took  to  abusin'  him,  and 
beatin'  him,  and  so  he  got  him  cowed  down  to  nothin',  and 
then  he — well,  he  jes'  forgot  hisself,  and  fout  him." 

She  looked  anxiously  at  Overton  for  a  moment,  and  con 
tinued  : 

"  Oh,  Mister — Mister  Overton,  it  war  monstous  onfort- 
nate ;  but  you  know  that  arfter  they  begun  it  the  child  had 


152 


DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 


to  fight  for  life,  for  I  tell  you  he  war  a  monstous  hard 
man,  and  which  I  begs  your  pardon  for  sayin'  so  about  a 
schoolmarster." 

Overton  was  amused  at  her  eagerness,  especially  her 
apology  for  the  terms  in  which  she  had  alluded  to  Mr. 
Israel  Meadows. 

"  I  will  take  your  son  with  pleasure,  madam.  I  have 
heard  something  of  the  treatment  which  he  received.  I 
think  we  can  get  along  together ;  at  least  -we  can  try.  If 
we  fail,  we  can  separate  in  a  friendly  way." 

"  The  Lord  bless  you,  sir.  Mr.  Overton,  the  child  ain't 
been  raised  nuther  to  fightin'  nor  to  be  impudent  to  grown 
people,  and  God  bless  you  for  not  turnin'  him  off." 

She  beckoned  to  Brinkly,  and  he  came  up. 

"  Mr.  Overton  says  he'll  take  you,  my  son — that  is,  on 
trial ;  and  ef  you  don't  behave  yourself,  now  mind  you,  ef 
you  don't — " 

Overton  interrupted  her,  and,  taking  Brinkly  by  the 
hand,  said  that  he  was  glad  he  had  come,  and  he  did  not 
doubt  that  they  should  be  friends.  Brinkly  looked  humbly 
but  steadily  at  the  master,  and  said  that  he  would  try  to 
do  all  that  was  told  him.  The  widow  delivered  to  her  son 
a  short  lecture,  which  was  mixed  up  of  scolding,  threats, 
and  praise ;  then  bidding  Overton  good-morning,  she  went 
off,  about  as  happy  an  old  soul  as  one  would  be  apt  to  see 
riding  along  the  road  at  that  time  of  day. 

When  Brinkly  came  in  there  were  signs  of  satisfaction 
on  the  part  of  the  boys.  Bill  Jones  winked  one  eye  at 
Sam  Pate,  and  Sam  passed  it  over  to  Asa  Boatright,  who 
nodded  to  both  the  other  gentlemen.  After  examining 
Brinkly  and  assigning  him  a  task,  the  teacher  sat  down 
and  tried  to  reflect.  He  was  puzzled  how  to  begin.  The 
ways  these  urchins  had  did  not  serve  to  help  him.  How 
they  did  eye  him  as  he  sat  there!  He  rose  and  walked  to 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW. 


153 


and  fro,  and  they  eyed  him  yet  more,  all  except  Brinkly 
and  Jack  Parkinson ;  these  went  at  once  to  their  work 
The  others  pretended  to  do  the  same,  but  they  watched 
the  teacher  continually.  There  was  one  little  fellow  who 
was  especially  interesting  to  Overton.  He  too  was  an  old 
Gooseponder,  the  same  who  was  represented  as  having 
been  so  far  gone  under  the  Meadows  rule  that  to  the  last  he 
could  not  understand  that  great  business  of  the  breaking- 
up — Abel  Kitchens.  He  was  very  small  for  his  age,  of 
eleven  years,  slender,  but  rather  knotty-looking,  with  sandy 
hair,  very  piercing  hawk-eyes,  and  a  long,  thin  nose,  curv 
ing  downward  at  the  end,  and  always  shining  and  looking  as 
if  it  had  been  newly  peeled.  He  wore  sumac-dyed  home 
spun  clothes.  He  sat  on  a  line  with  Jack  Parkinson,  and 
at  first  watched  him  and  Overton  alternately.  Jack's  nice 
clothes  attracted  him.  Soon,  however,  he  dropped  Jack 
and  his  clothes,  and  watched  Overton  alone.  He  eyed 
him  •  over  his  book,  then  under,  now  from  one  side,  now 
from  the  other.  But  he  studied  awfully.  To  convince  the 
teacher  of  this,  he  kept  up  a  continual  swaying  to  and  fro 
and  a  buzzing  with  his  lips.  At  intervals,  in  order  to  see 
him  better,  Abel  would  rise  from  his  seat,  dart  at  him,  and, 
putting  a  finger  on  his  word,  hold  the  book  up  to  him,  the 
back  toward  himself,  and  look  him  through  and  through ; 
then,  rushing  back  to  his  seat,  his  eyes  would  shoot  at  him 
again  from  all  sides  of  his  book.  Wherever  Overton  went, 
that  eye,  like  the  basilisk's,  preyed  upon  him.  He  was 
alternately  amused  and  embarrassed  by  it.  Once  or  twice 
he  felt  that  it  would  be  a  relief  to  wring  his  little  neck 
somewhat.  Reflecting  that  this  would  not  do,  and  not  being 
able  to  find  what  would  do,  this  young  Virginian,  though 
a  man  of  education  and  courage,  then  and  there  debated  in 
his  mind  whether  he  would  or  not  take  his  hat  and  run  away. 
He  decided  at  once  that  it  was  quite  a  job  to  get  his 


154 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


pupils  out  of  the  jumble  in  which  he  found  them.  He 
understood  the  difficulties  of  the  case,  and  that  was  all 
that  he  did  understand  at  first.  He  was  able  to  make  the 
diagnosis.  There  were  cataracts,  strabismuses,  and  all 
manner  of  ailings  in  the  catalogue  of  the  ophthalmist, 
down  to  the  case  of  little  Abel  Kitchens,  who  seemed  to 
have  been  born  blind.  The  young  physician  was  sore 
puzzled. 

But  he  was  enlightened,  and,  what  was  more,  he  was 
humane.  When  he  had  fully  understood  the  injury  these 
children  had  endured  from  Israel  Meadows,  and  such  as 
him,  he  pitied  them.  Their  general  apparent  stupidity, 
and  their  almost  universal  proclivity  to  falsehood,  were  sad 
to  behold ;  and  his  heart  sickened  to  see  the  distrust  and 
the  abject  fear  with  which  they  regarded  him. 

But  youth  is  strong  and  hopeful.  He  felt  that  he  could 
at  least  remove  their  distrust  and  fear,  and  he  hoped  to  be 
able  in  time  to  gain  their  friendship.  Fortunately,  he  had 
a  coadjutor  in  Jack  Parkinson.  The  others  saw  that  Jack 
was  neither  a  fool  nor  a  slave,  although  he  had  been  made 
to  study  books.  It  was  amazing  to  them  that  he  should 
like  the  schoolmaster,  and  even  be  upon  easy  terms  with 
him,  while  at  the  same  time  he  took  a  hearty  part  in  their 
sports.  Yet  they  had  a  way  of  accounting  for  all  this. 
Mr.  Overton  boarded  with  the  Parkinsons,  who  were  richer 
than  they  were ;  and  no  matter  what  Jack  did,  it  would  be 
all  right.  As  for  Abel,  he  had  no  views  upon  the  subject. 
He  constantly  pierced  the  master  every  day  with  eyes  and 
nose,  and  seemed  to  wonder  at  not  being  beaten  half  to 
death.  He  could  not  understand  this  case  any  more  than 
the  former ;  indeed,  he  seemed  to  be  even  more  helpless 
than  before.  There  was  danger  that  he  might  come  in 
time  either  to  feel  contempt  for  the  schoolmaster  or  grow 
thoroughly  insane. 


OLD   FRIENDS  AND   NEW. 


155 


And  now  in  this  little  realm  there  was  needed,  in  order 
to  counterbalance  the  patrician  influence,  a  representative 
of  the  Third  Estate,  one  with  homespun  clothes  and  a  wool 
hat,  to  settle  with  the  upper  estates  upon  some  safe  and 
reasonable  understanding.  The  commoner  for  this  mo 
mentous  undertaking  was  Brinkly  Glisson. 

Two  such  persons  could  not  long  misunderstand  each 
other.  Overton  readily  measured  the  amount  and  the 
kind  of  work  that  he  could  do,  set  him  to  it,  and  gently 
led  him  along.  Before  the  end  of  the  week  he  was  an 
other  boy  altogether.  How  he  did  study  !  Not  in  the 
old  digging  way  that  we  first  found  him  at.  Overton  had 
already  taught  him  other  modes  of  obtaining  knowledge 
than  by  grubbing  it  up  with  his  head  for  a  hoe.  The  boy 
was  so  grateful,  and  in  his  small  way  so  proud,  that  the 
young  teacher  felt  some  kindred  emotions,  and  was  better 
pleased  with  himself  than  he  had  ever  been  before.  How 
little  it  often  costs  to  bestow  a  blessing  upon  the  lowly, 
and  how  rich  is  the  return  to  the  bestower! 


CHAPTER   IV. 

BUT  while  Brinkly  was  doing  so  well,  the  rest  were  yet 
in  the  jumble.  They  had  been  in  a  much  worse  condition 
than  he ;  for  while  he  had  been  badly  shaken,  yet  he  had 
kept  enough  of  his  native  wits  to  be  able  at  last  to  break 
away.  Then  there  had  been  an  individuality  in  his  case. 
They  had  all  been  scrambled,  as  it  were,  together,  and 
there  seemed  to  be  no  earthly  way  of  pulling  out  one  with 
out  getting  the  whole  lump.  Overton  tried  all  expedients 
— lecturing,  encouraging,  persuading,  threatening  to  drive 
them  home.  They  had  little  confidence  in  anything  which 


156  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

had  the  appearance  of  kindness  or  of  concern  for  their  hap 
piness.  They  were  not  to  be  fooled  with  so  incredible  a 
thing  as  that  a  schoolmaster  cared  any  more  for  the  happi 
ness  of  his  pupils  than  for  so  many  dogs  and  cats  that  be 
longed  to  other  people.  His  show  of  kindness  was  about 
as  if  he  were  angling  with  an  insufficient  hook  among  timid 
little  fishes  in  a  shallow  stream  wh«re  they  could  distinctly 
see  the  fisherman.  He  could  never  get  more  than  a  nib 
ble.  Occasionally  a  horny-head  would  make  as  if  he  were 
inclined  to  biter  and  would  play  around  the  bait.  Not 
taking  hold,  the  angler  would  make  a  sly  jerk  in  the  hope 
of  hooking  him  in  some  way  or  other,  whereupon  he  would 
take  fresh  fright  and  scamper  off  with  all  the  minnows  at 
his  tail. 

Overton  was  really  embarrassed.  The  servile  fear 
which  they  felt  toward  him  distressed  as  well  as  disgusted 
him.  So  did  their  falsehood  and  their  treachery  among 
themselves.  In  vain  he  joked  with  them.  But  it  is  poor 
fun  when  nobody  laughs  at  a  joke  but  the  joker.  The 
only  response  he  could  get  was  great  stares  that  a  school 
master  could  tell  jokes  and  laugh.  True,  they  remem 
bered  that  Mr.  Meadows  used  to  laugh  in  the  circus ;  but 
that  laugh  was  not  one  of  the  sort  that  was  catching,  while 
this  man's  was  hearty  and  genial,  and  therefore  must  be  a 
snare. 

But  for  Brinkly,  Overton  would  have  been  forced  to 
give  it  up.  Brinkly's  case  was  a  poser  to  them.  Remem 
bering  how  bravely  he  had  broken  off  one  set  of  shackles, 
and  now  seeing  him  so  happy,  so  fond  of  his  books,  and 
so  in  love  with  his  teacher — they  could  make  nothing  of 
them.  Sometimes  they  were  inclined  to  believe  that  he 
had  been  bought  over  by  the  enemy,  and  they  rather  ex 
pected  to  see  him  come  to  school  some  morning  with  store 
clothes  on  ;  and,  when  he  did  not,  they  had  to  give  it  up. 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW.  !57 

Brinkly  knew  their  difficulties,  and  talked  with  them  in 
private ;  he  made  many  comparisons  between  things  here 
and  things  at  the  Goosepond.  The  girls  came  over  first, 
and  then  the  boys  must  follow.  By  slow  degrees  they 
came  to  their  senses,  and  began  to  take  a  feeble  hold  upon 
things. 

A  little  accident  occurred  one  day  which  probably  served 
to  hasten  the  adjustment.  The  teacher  was  sitting  in  his 
chair  looking  through  the  window  in  a  musing  mood. 
Suddenly  a  little  girl  cried  out :  "  Mist'  Ove't'n,  can't  you 
make  Abel  Kitch'n  quit  a-keepin'  a-constant  a-makin' 
mouths  at  me  with  his  ole  nose?  " 

Overton  started.     Abel  immediately  responded : 

"  I  ain't  a-doin'  no  sich  thing,  Mist'  Ove't'n,  and  the  gal 
know  I  ain't.  I  wur  jis'  a-settin'  here  and  a-gittin'  my 
lessin,  and  I  wa'n't  a-studyin'  about  the  gal." 

"  He  know  he  wern't,"  she  replied ;  "  he  wer  a-makin' 
mouths  at  me  with  his  ole  nose." 

Abel  persisted  in  denying  the  charge ;  but  it  occurred  to 
him  to  endeavor  to  divert  the  master's  attention  from  him 
self,  or  at  least  to  have  others  joined  in  the  punishment. 

"  I  never  done  no  sich  a  thing,"  he  insisted ;  "  and  Asa 
Boatright  he  cussed,  he  did ;  and  Bill  Jones  and  Sam  Pate 
they  been  a-fightin'  down  to  the  spring." 

The  teacher  laughed  and  laughed ;  he  laughed  till  he 
shed  tears.  Then  Brinkly  and  Jack  laughed,  and  then  the 
girls,  and  then  the  boys,  except  the  four  culprits.  When 
he  was  able  to  grow  serious  he  talked  kindly,  but  remon 
strated  upon  such  improprieties.  But  most  of  all  he  con 
demned  Abel  for  tale-bearing.  He  declared  that  if  Abel 
were  not  such  a  little  fellow  he  would  feel  like  breaking  his 
neck  square  off.  He  should  not  watch  the  boys  himself, 
and  they  should  not  watch  one  another.  He  would  have 
no  meanness  and  no  lies,  even  if  he  had  to  quit  keeping 


I58  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

the  school  himself,  or  come  down  to  Brinkly  Glisson,  Jack 
Parkinson,  and  the  girls.  He  told  them  that  if  they  ex 
pected  to  make  of  themselves  men  who  were  to  be  of  any 
account,  it  was  high  time  that  the  most  of  them  were  learn 
ing  how,  and  that  at  least  they  should  not  grow  up  under  his 
charge  to  be  rascals. 

This  was  a  great  step  for  him,  and  it  was  not  long  before 
all  were  in  a  good  way,  except  Abel.  Abel  still  hung 
back ;  he  couldn't  understand  yet.  Overton  had  tried  all 
the  means  he  could  think  of.  He  had  scolded,  joked,  flat 
tered,  to  little  purpose.  The  disappointment  at  not  being 
flogged  for  his  ungallant  conduct,  and  at  receiving  abuse 
instead  of  thanks  for  giving  information  of  the  misconduct 
of  the  other  boys,  seemed  to  confuse  him  more  and  to 
render  him  somewhat  dogged.  Not  that  he  was  much 
afraid ;  for  fear,  as  other  feelings,  seemed  to  have  been 
beaten  out  of  him  at  the  Goosepond.  But  his  deportment 
did  not  change.  Those  eyes  and  that  nose  inflicted  in 
numerable  wounds  upon  the  teacher  every  day. 

At  last,  one  afternoon  (it  was  the  second  Friday),  just 
before  the  school  was  to  be  turned  out,  Overton  deter 
mined  to  make  another  trial.  He  went  to  where  Abel  sat, 
and  in  beseeching  tones  asked : 

"  Abel,  my  dear  old  fellow,  tell  me  why  I  can't  do  some 
thing  with  you?  Such  a  fine  old  fellow  as  you  are!  so 
smart,  so  good-looking!  I  would  give  anything  in  the 
world  if  I  could  do  something  for  you!  Tell  me  why  I 
can't." 

He  spoke  in  half-desperate,  half-playful  exclamation,  not 
expecting  an  answer.  He  had  placed  his  hand  upon  the 
little  wretch's  head  in  rash  defiance  at  whatever  might 
come.  The  effect  of  this  was  to  make  Abel's  coarse  hair 
rise  like  bristles.  His  eyes  glared  with  uncommon  wild- 
ness,  and  his  nose  became  a  two-edged  sword.  But  the 


OLD    FRIENDS   AND   NEW. 


159 


master  persisted.  Patting  him  on  the  head,  now  gently  re 
monstrating  with  him,  now  praising,  he  put  the  question  to 
him  again.  Abel  looked  up  to  him  with  unutterable  feroc 
ity,  clinched  his  yellow  teeth  together,  and  shot  forth  in 
screams  the  following  sentences,  pausing  among  them  as 
we  have  sometimes  seen  small  fire-balls  projected  from  a 
Roman  candle : 

"  Hit's  becase  I  hain't  got  the  hang  o'  this  school'ouse 
yit! 

"  Hit's  becase  you  ain't  like  no  schoolmarster  nohow ! 

"  Hit's  -becase  you  laughs  in  the  school'ouse,  and  that 
when  you  ain't  mad  nuther! 

"  Hit's  becase  you  don't  whip  nobody  for  fightin',  and 
won't  let  nobody  tell  you  nothin',  and  I  hain't  got  the 
hang  o'  nothin'  here ! " 

Overton  was  aghast.  He  looked  around  at  the  other 
boys.  They  were  waiting  for  him  to  begin.  He  smiled, 
and  they  roared.  In  vain  Abel  tried  with  eyes  and  nose 
to  pin  them  all  down.  The  girls  screamed.  They  had  a 
great  row.  The  poor  little  fellow  didn't  have  a  friend. 

Overton  had  retreated  from  him  during  the  explosions. 
He  now  went  up  to  him  again,  took  him  up  in  his  arms, 
carried  him  to  his  own  chair,  sat  down,  and  placed  him  on 
his  lap.  What  in  the  world  could  he  have  been  thinking 
about,  that  he  had  not  found  out  before  what  the  difficulty 
was?  It  was  as  plain  as  day  now.  Just  as  soon  as 
Abel  could  get  the  hang  of  things  generally,  which  of 
course  he  was  going  to  do  right  away,  he  would  make  one 
of  the  best  scholars  in  this  school  or  any  other  school. 
We  have  seen  a  wild,  puny,  snaggy  little  kitten  run  into  a 
corner  and  caught  in  order  to  be  tamed ;  how  it  doubled 
itself  up  and  grinned  and  sniffed !  We  have  taken  it  upon 
our  laps,  and  hiding  its  head,  and  gently  talking  to  it,  and 
stroking  its  back,  we  at  last  have  seen  how,  after  repeated 


j6o  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

efforts  to  bite  and  scratch,  it  has  gradually  yielded  to  the 
gentle  friction  and  gone  to  purring  in  comfort  and  content 
ment.  So  Abel.  He  dared  not  bite  and  scratch,  but  he 
put  his  little  legs  straight  out,  and  retreated  his  little  back 
as  far  as  he  could,  and  shrunk  up,  and  tried  all  the  old  re 
sources  of  his  eyes  and  nose.  But  he  soon  seemed  to  rec 
ognize  that  their  influence  was  gone.  He  gave  himself 
up  at  last  to  the  master's  fondling,  and  though  he  did  not 
even  smile  in  accord  with  the  general  merriment,  yet  when 
he  was  loose  he  went  back  to  his  seat  looking  subdued  and 
reconciled. 

Overton  now  dismissed  the  school.  He  announced  that 
all  who  really  desired  to  be  improved,  and  who  intended  to 
do  right  and  tell  no  lies,  and  all  who  were  not  afraid  of 
him,  might  come  back  on  the  next  Monday  morning ;  but 
that  all  others  might  stay  at  home.  He  said  he  was  espe 
cially  determined  upon  the  subject  of  lies.  He  had  never 
had  a  great  fondness  for  dogs,  but  if  it  should  be  necessary 
to  do  so  he  intended  to  keep  one  hound  for  the  purpose  of 
chasing  off  any  liars  that  might  be  there. 

That  evening,  while  they  were  going  home,  Abel  told 
Brinkly  that  all  had  come  to  him  right  thar  while  he  sot  in 
Mist'  Ove't'n's  lap. 


CHAPTER   V. 

"  FATHER,  I  would  like  to  learn  Latin." 

"The  mischief!  I  thought  you  considered  your  educa 
tion  finished." 

"Very  far  from  that!  I  wanted  to  study  Latin  in 
Savannah,  but  Miss  Jennings  advised  against  it,  and  said 
that  girls  did  not  need  it." 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW.  161 

"  I  am  somewhat  of  the  same  opinion,"  answered  Mr. 
Parkinson ;  "  but,  admitting  that  it  is  worth  while,  how  are 
you  to  learn  it?  " 

"  You  can  teach  me,  for  you  learned  Latin." 

"That's  a  poor  chance  indeed!  Even  if  I  had  not 
forgotten  all  that  I  ever  learned  about  it,  I  have  neither 
time  nor  talent  for  teaching ;  but  I  have  already  forgotten 
all  I  ever  knew  about  it,  except,  I  believe,  penna  and 
bonus." 

Lucy  was  silent. 

"  Suppose  you  go  to  school  to  Mr.  Overton.  Susan,  you 
must  get  a  bigger  dinner-basket,  Lucy  wants  to  go  to 
school  again." 

"  I  should  think,"  answered  Mrs.  P.,  ignoring  the  humor 
of  her  husband's  remark,  "that  if  Lucy  would  like  to 
learn  it,  Mr.  Overton  might  give  her  lessons  in  private." 

"  That's  a  good  idea,  wife.     Who  will  ask  him?  " 

"  Let  Lucy  do  so  herself." 

Friday  night,  after  supper. 

"  May  we  not  have  music  to-night?  "  asked  Overton  of 
Lucy,  when  they  had  met  in  the  drawing-room. 

Lucy  played  and  sang  several  pieces. 

"  Do  you  like  teaching? "  she  asked,  turning  slightly 
round  on  the  piano-stool,  and  carelessly  playing  with  one 
hand  an  indifferent  air. 

"  Not  very  much,"  answered  Overton,  "  yet  it  is  more 
interesting  than  I  expected  to  find  it.  There  is  more 
labor  than  I  anticipated,  and  more  anxiety  and  more 
pleasure." 

"  You  feel,  then,  as  if  you  had  quite  enough  to  do?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  such  as  it  is." 

"  And  that  you  deserve  to  have  your  rest  when  the  day's 
work  is  over?  " 


!62  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

"Why,  as  to  any  great  meritoriousness,  I  must  admit 
that  I  can  plead  only  the  claims  of  tired  nature." 

"  You  really,  then,  are  fatigued  by  the  exercises  of  the 
day?  "  she  said  earnestly. 

"  I  was  at  first.  I  was  quite  fatigued,  but  now  since 
(as  one  of  my  little  chaps  told  me  to-day)  I  have  gotten 
somewhat  of  the  hang  of  things,  I  do  the  work  with  less 
pain ;  yet  when  night  comes  on  I  am  quite  ready  to  leave 
off." 

"  Then  there  are  your  law  studies." 

"  No,  they  are  a  recreation." 

"Are  they  quite  enough  for  that  purpose?"  How 
rapidly  her  fair  fingers  ran  over  the  keys! 

"  Oh,  quite  enough ;   I  delight  in  my  law  studies." 

Lucy  rose  from  the  piano.  They  seated  themselves  be 
fore  the  fire,  and  their  conversation  went  upon  other  things. 

Jack  Parkinson  usually  got  his  lessons  at  night  in  Over- 
ton's  chamber.  When  the  latter  went  up,  Jack  said  to 
him: 

"  I  suppose  you  have  a  new  scholar,  Mr.  Overton?  " 

"  Oh,  dear  me !  I  hope  not ;  I  have  heard  of  none. 
Who  is  it?  Another  Abel?  " 

Jack  looked  quite  embarrassed,  but  answered  timidly  that 
he  had  thought  that  his  sister  intended  to  ask  Mr.  Overton 
to  give  her  lessons  in  Latin.  At  that  moment  Jack  was 
called  by  Lucy  to  come  downstairs. 

"  There  now  ! "  thought  the  young  man.  "  And  now  I 
suppose  the  best  thing  I  can  do  is  to  go  to  her  and  confess 
that  I  have  told  a  lie  about  the  fatigue  and  all  that."  He 
rose  and  started  down  the  steps.  Just  then  Lucy  went 
rapidly  from  the  drawing-room,  and  immediately  afterward 
he  heard  her  singing  gayly  in  her  own  chamber. 

The  next  morning  Overton  rose  earlier  than  usual.  When 
he  had  descended  and  was  standing  at  the  front  door,  he 


OLD   FRIENDS  AND   NEW.  163 

saw  Lucy  walking  in  the  grove,  and  went  to  join  her.  The 
cool  air  had  reddened  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  were  liquid 
as  the  dew.  She  returned  his  salutation,  and,  he  thought, 
regarded  him  with  an  expression  of  mock  sympathy. 

"  You  have  rested  well,  I  hope?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  always  rest  well,  thanks  to  a  good  constitu 
tion." 

"And  plenty  of  work,"  she  added. 

"  According  to  that,  I  should  rest  yet  more  soundly  if  I 
had  more  work.  But  you,  Miss  Parkinson,  you  who  have 
so  little  to  do,  I  suppose  you  find  sleep  a  burden  and  a 
bore.  You  must  painfully  watch  for  the  morning.  Isn't 
it  so?  Whenever  I  come  down,  however  early,  I  find  you 
already  risen." 

"  I  ?  Why,  I  have  more  to  do  than  you  suspect !  True, 
I  rise  early,  but  that  is  from  a  habit  of  obedience  to  a  rule 
of  the  house." 

"Ay?  Then  I  must  take  notice  of  that  rule  and  con 
form  to  it." 

"  Oh,  it  is  bindjng  only  on  Jack  and  myself." 

"And  you  have  work  to  do  also?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed.  You  do  not  believe  me?  Well,  imprimis 
(that  is  a  Latin  word,  is  it  not? — yes).  Well,  I  am  the 
keeper  of  this  house.  I  superintend  kitchen,  dairy,  and 
smoke-house.  Besides,  I  work  the  bosoms  of  all  of  father's 
shirts,  and  I  make  Jack's  clothes,  and  I  cut  and  make  my 
own." 

"  Then  you  must  be  rather  tired  yourself  at  the  close  of 
the  day." 

"  Oh,  very! "  and  the  grove  rang  with  her  laugh. 

"  Well,  I  have  been  thinking,"  said  Overton,  "  and  I  have 
concluded  that  I  am  not  usually  as  much  fatigued  by  my 
labors  as  I  thought  I  was." 

"  That,  I  fear,  is  because  you  are  so  refreshed  this  morn- 


1 64  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

ing  by  your  night's  rest.  I  am  sure  that  you  have  already 
too  much." 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  have  not." 

"  What  made  you  say  so,  then?  " 

"  I  told  a  story." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Overton,  I  shouldn't  have  thought  it  of  you! 
And  really,  now,  you  think  you  could  do  any  more  work 
than  you  have  already?  " 

"  Indeed  I  could — of  the  same  sort,  at  least.  I  could  at 
least  enlarge  the  school  a  little.  I  could  take  one  more 
scholar,  and  even  one  more  class.  Indeed,  since  I  have 
been  thinking  about  it,  one  thing  more  I  am  very  anxious 
to  do." 

She  looked  at  him  as  much  as  to  ask,  what  is  that? 

"  To  give  you  lessons  in  Latin." 

"  Jack  had  no  business  to  tell  you  that.  But  he  thought 
I  had  done  so  before.  Really,  then,  you  could  give  me 
lessons  easily  and  without  much  trouble — upon  your  honor, 
now?  "  She  held  her  finger  up  in  warning. 

"  Upon  my  honor,  I  could,  and  it  would  give  me  real 
pleasure." 

"  Then  you  shall  do  it,  and  you  will  receive  all  our  thanks. 
But  I  notify  you  that  you  will  have  a  dull  scholar.  I  shall 
be  another  Abel." 

"  Not  when  you  get  the  hang  of  things,"  he  said ;  and 
thus  began  their  relation  of  teacher  and  pupil. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MY  firm  belief  to  this  day  is  that  Miss  Caroline  Thigpen 
was  without  exception  the  best  weaver  I  ever  knew.  She 
was  about  two  years  older  than  her  brother  Allen ;  and 


OLD   FRIENDS  AND   NEW. 


'65 


they  were  the  only  members  of  the  family  then  living. 
Theyiiad  a  good  piece  of  ground  of  a  couple  of  hundred 
acres.  On  this  Allen,  with  four  negroes,  a  man,  his  wife, 
and  their  two  boys,  used  to  make  good  crops,  and  was  able 
to  lay  up  a  little  every  year.  Everybody  liked  the  Thig- 
pens.  With  all  their  industry  they  were  as  accommodating 
as  any  people  in  the  neighborhood.  If  anybody  was  sick, 
Allen  or  his  sister  was  ready  to  sit  up  at  night.  Sitting  up 
with  the  sick  seemed  not  to  have  the  slightest  influence 
upon  their  strength,  for  they  never  lost  the  day's  work  by 
it.  Any  other  special  little  accommodation  which  a  neigh 
bor  wanted,  and  they  could  bestow,  was  always  easily  ob 
tained.  As  for  weaving,  why,  Caroline  Thigpen  in  her 
mother's  lifetime  stayed  very  little  at  home  during  the  fall 
seasons,  so  much  was  she  employed  for  miles  and  miles 
around  to  weave  the  jeans  and  the  counterpanes.  Since 
her  mother's  death  she  had  not  been  used  to  go  so  much 
away  from  home,  and  the  materials  were  sent  to  her  own 
house,  for  Allen  was  lonesome  without  her,  and  they  were 
very  fond  of  each  other.  Allen  especially  gloried  in  his 
sister  Karline,  as  he  called  her.  Sometimes  when  it  would 
not  be  very  convenient  to  send  her  the  yarns,  and  she  was 
begged  as  a  special  favor  to  go  and  do  the  weaving  at  a 
neighbor's  house,  Allen,  if  that  neighbor  were  somewhat 
of  a  favorite,  urged  her  to  go,  saying  that  he  could  keep 
bachelor's  hall  for  awhile.  Then  she  would  go,  finish  her 
job  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  it  was  good  to  see  how  glad 
they  both  would  be  when  she  returned. 

I  was  always  glad  to  see  Miss  Caroline  come  to  our 
house.  I  spent  much  of  my  time  in  the  weaving-room 
while  she  was  there,  and  filled  her  quills  and  watched  and 
talked  to  her  as  she  tied  her  threads,  and  worked  the 
treadles,  and  threw  the  two  shuttles.  She  was  fond  of 
reading,  and  I  think  rather  prided  herself  somewhat  upon 


!66  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

the  knowledge  she  had  acquired  from  books.  In  this  re 
spect  she  was  quite  superior  to  Allen.  She  used  to4  chide 
him,  but  very  kindly,  for  not  reading  more  himself  and 
thus  improving  his  mind ;  but  Allen  complained  that  read 
ing  made  him  sleepy,  and  that  he  couldn't  remember  what 
he  read,  except  the  "  Life  of  Marion."  This  he  was  fa 
miliar  with,  and  he  considered  it  the  greatest  of  books  next 
to  the  Bible.  He  had  a  notion  that  anything  outside  of 
that  work  that  was  worth  knowing  was  known  to  his  sister 
Karline,  and  that  was  enough  for  that  family. 

Her  jeans  were  beautiful,  but  what  she  prided  herself 
upon  were  her  counterpanes.  She  distinguished  them  by 
historic  names.  There  was  one  figure  which  she  called  the 
Battle  of  New  Orleans ;  another  Bonaparte  a-crossing  o' 
the  Rhine;  another  was  Washington's  Victory.  What 
special  victory  it  was  I  don't  think  was  understood.  I 
used  to  try  to  see  the  resemblance  between  these  figures 
and  the  things  signified,  and  when  I  could  not  I  supposed 
that  it  must  be  there  somewhere. 

"Where  is  Bonaparte?  "  I  asked  one  day. 

"  Why,  don't  you  see  that  longest,  biggest  thread  in  the 
middle,  and  a-rising  above  the  others?  Well,  that's  him." 

"But  where's  the  Rhine?  " 

"  Lor'  bless  your  soul,  child !  Why,  the  balance  of  the 
counterpane's  the  Rhine." 

It  seemed  to  me,  I  remember,  that  it  was  somewhat  rash 
in  Bonaparte  to  be  going  on  a  perilous  enterprise  with  such 
a  small  body  of  men ;  yet  even  to  this  day  I  never  see  a 
counterpane  of  the  old  fashion  of  raised  figures  that  I  don't 
look  out  for  that  great  chieftain  crossing  the  mighty  river. 

The  Thigpens  resided  on  the  other  side  of  Dukesborough 
from  us,  and  near  to  the  Parkinsons'.  Miss  Karline's  stay 
with  us  was  generally  about  three  weeks,  in  which  time  she 
usually  rode  one  of  my  father's  horses  home  on  Saturday 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW.  ^7 

nights,  returning  on  Monday  morning,  except  it  might  be 
meeting-Sunday,  when  she  always  came  to  church,  and  on 
to  us  when  the  service  was  over. 

It  was  on  one  of  these  Sundays,  in  the  ride  from 
church,  that  Mr.  Bill  Williams,  who  knew  her  well,  began 
in  his  gay  manner  a  sort  of  flirtation.  On  this  occasion  old 
Molly  Sparks  was  unusually  restive  about  her  colt,  who 
seemed  to  be  determined,  as  it  was  a  beautiful  day,  to  run 
over  every  person  and  horse  and  vehicle  on  the  road.  Mr. 
Bill  seemed  to  enjoy  old  Molly's  prancings  consequent  upon 
the  erratic  conduct  of  her  offspring.  They  served  to  im 
part  to  her  some  character  of  wildness  which  he  seemed  to 
be  pleased  that  Miss  Thigpen  should  witness  his  power  to 
control.  The  truth  was  that,  both  from  ploughing  and  from 
nursing,  the  mare  looked  rather  thin,  and  but  for  her  spirit 
would  have  cut  a  poor  figure.  As  she  reared  and  turned 
about  and  whickered,  he  sometimes  would  frown  in  view 
of  the  dangers  to  which  any  other  rider  would  have  been 
exposed,  and  then  smile  at  what  he  knew  must  be  the  effect 
upon  Miss  Thigpen  to  see  how  he  could  avoid  being  dashed 
on  the  ground.  "She  need  me,"  said  Mr.  Bill,  "that's 
who  she  need.  She  gittin'  above  herself  fast  sence  I  been  to 
town.  And  I  don't  know  but  what  it  is  time  I  war  settlin' 
myself  anyway — stock  gittin'  wild  this  way,  and  things  goin' 
wrong  in  giner'l.  But  a  man  can't  settle  in  the  country 
jes'  so  by  hisself,  you  know,  Miss  Karline?  " 

Miss  Karline  answered  that  she  did  not  know  so  well ; 
that  that  was  a  thing  that  a  person  had  to  settle  for  himself 
— that  of  course — yes  indeed — it  might  be  one  other  per 
son's  business,  too ;  leastways  a  part  of  it ;  but  of  course — 
nobody  knows. 

Mr.  Bill,  as  usual,  stopped  at  our  house  to  dinner.  My 
parents  were  surprised  that  Miss  Karline  seemed  pleased 
with  his  attentions.  "  If  Bill  is  in  earnest,"  remarked  my 


1 68  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

father,  "  and  can  get  her,  he  will  do  a  good  thing.  But 
I  doubt  if  he  has  sense  enough  to  know  what  a  fine  girl 
she  is." 

"  Why,  Caroline  is  three  or  four  years  older  than  he  is," 
answered  my  mother. 

"  That  would  make  no  difference,"  continued  my  father ; 
"  he  would  do  a  cash  business  to  get  her.  Bill  is  getting  to 
be  of  very  little  account  there  in  Dukesborough.  He  had 
a  right  good  turn  for  farming ;  but  he  did  not  like  that, 
and  going  to  Dukesborough  is  likely  to  ruin  him.  If  he 
could  get  Caroline,  and  then  would  go  back  home  to  the 
work  he  is  fit  for,  he  might  do  well.  Her  age  is  no  ob 
jection,  or  ought  not  to  be  with  him." 

"William  is  rather  fond  of  Elizabeth  Aery,  isn't  he, 
Philemon?  "  asked  my  mother. 

"  Oh  yes,"  I  answered ;  but  I  gave  it  as  my  decided 
opinion  that,  if  he  ever  had  had  any  chance  there,  he  had 
lost  it  on  the  day  he  and  I  had  left  Mr.  Lorriby's  school. 

"  I  tell  you,"  insisted  my  father,  "  that  if  he  can  get 
Caroline  it  would  be  doing  a  long  way  better  than  I  ever 
thought  he  would  be  able  to  do,  and  he's  a  fool  if  he  don't." 

Mr.  Bill  seemed  flattered  by  the  impression  he  had  made 
upon  Miss  Caroline,  and  was  as  polite  as  a  Dukesborough 
beau  knew  how  to  be.  We  used  to  hear  of  other  atten 
tions  which  he  paid  to  her.  He  went  to  her  house  several 
times ;  but  as  he  was  a  great  visitor  generally,  we  did  not 
think  a  great  deal  of  that.  Allen  did  not  have  much  fancy 
for  Mr.  Bill,  and  especially  for  his  town  airs ;  yet  he  loved 
his  sister  dearly,  and  he  tolerated  her  visitor  for  her  sake. 
So,  whenever  Mr.  Bill  would  come  to  the  house,  Allen 
would  treat  him  hospitably,  and  on  his  leaving  would  in 
vite  him  in  his  dry  way  to  come  again  whenever  it  was 
convenient. 

The  Thigpens  were  quite  friendly  with  the  Acrys ;  and 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW.  169 

the  two  young  ladies  frequently  visited  each  other,  and 
sometimes  stayed  as  long  as  two  or  three  days. 

Mr.  Bill  had  never  quite  relinquished  his  preference  for 
Betsy  Ann,  though  since  the  affair  at  Mr.  Lorriby's  he  had 
had  almost  no  hope.  The  growing  intimacy  between  the 
two  ladies  made  another  inducement  for  him  to  cultivate 
the  society  of  Miss  Thigpen.  But  for  Betsy  Ann,  Mr.  Bill 
would  have  been  inclined  the  more  to  make  serious  pro 
posals  to  Caroline.  His  mother,  who  had  begun  to  see  that 
his  mercantile  career  was  not  promising  of  great  results, 
and  who  was  anxious  for  him  to  come  back  home,  thought 
that  it  was  best  for  him  to  marry ;  and  she  very  decidedly 
preferred  Caroline  to  all  other  young  ladies  of  her  acquaint 
ance,  and  she  used  to  urge  her  son  to  go  right  along,  court 
her,  marry  her,  and  bring  her  right  straight  home.  Mr. 
Bill  had  nearly  made  up  his  mind,  and  would  have  gone 
on,  probably,  but  for  the  fact  that  the  more  attentive  he 
became  to  Caroline,  the  more  gracious  to  him  Betsy  Ann 
grew  to  be.  He  finally  began  to  reflect  upon  this  change 
in  the  latter's  deportment,  and  was  delighted  to  be  able  to 
attribute  it  to  jealousy.  So  he  began  to  enjoy  a  little  sharp 
practice  upon  the  two  ladies,  and  pleased  himself  with  the 
idea  that  something  important  was  to  come  out  of  it. 

One  day,  as  we  were  riding  home  from  church,  I  said  to 
him  that  we  had  heard  how  he  had  been  going  lately  to  the 
Thigpens'.  We  had  had  but  little  to  say  throughout  the 
ride,  for  old  Molly  had  worried  him  with  her  prancings, 
and  there  had  been  no  lady  before  whom  he  could  exhibit 
his  dexterity  in  riding.  He  declared  for  the  fiftieth  time 
that  he  would  sell  her,  dinged  if  he  wouldn't,  ef  she  weren't 
such  a  good  brood-mar  and  plough-nag. 

My  remark  being  made,  however,  as  we  were  near  home, 
and  the  mare  and  colt  having  become  more  quiet,  he  got 
at  once  into  a  good  humor. 


•  7° 


DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 


"  Oh  yes,  I  war  thar.    Who  told  you?    Miss  Betsy  Ann?  " 

"Yes ;  how  did  you  guess?  " 

Mr.  Bill  laughed  very  slyly.     "  What  did  she  say,  Philip  ?  " 

I  answered  that  I  had  heard  Betsy  Ann  joking  Miss 
Caroline  about  him,  and  that  the  former  told  me  that  he 
had  been  to  the  Thigpens*  over  and  often. 

"  How  did  Betsy  Ann  'pear  like  she  liked  my  goin'  thar 
so  of  ting?  " 

I  did  not  remember  anything  that  would  have  helped  me 
to  form  an  opinion  on  that  point. 

"  Philip,"  said  he,  turning  to  me  and  looking  extremely 
cunning — "  Philip,  has  you  ever  heerd  of  a  flurrit?  " 

"Of  what?". 

"  Of  a  flurrit :  of  a — flurritin' — as  it  war,  with  the  female 
mind?" 

"  No." 

"Oh,  my  young  fren  of  the  sunny  hour!  You  think 
you  know  all.  Wait  till  you're  older  and  have  experence 
before  you  think  you  understan'  all  you  sees  in  this  gain- 
sayin'  world.  Miss  Karline  is  a  very  fine  young  'oman ; 
now  ain't  she,  Philip?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed." 

"Thar  it  is  now!  I  knowed  it.  I  knowed  he  think  he 
understan'.  Oh,  my  fren,"  he  said,  just  as  we  were  about 
to  part,  "  my  young  fren,  when  you  git  to  be  a  man  of  my 
age,  that  is,  providin'  you  don't  keep  buried  here  in  the 
country  whar  a  man  can't  larn  much  o'  the  ways  o'  this 
ontimely  old  world,  you'll  know  what  I  mean  by  flurritin\ 
And  when  you  do,  won't  you  see  fun!  Oh,  my  gracious 
granny!  Oh  yes,  certing,  Miss  Karline  is  a  monstous  fine 
female!  Good-bye,  squire." 

Then  the  old  fellow  gave  his  mare  the  reins,  and  she 
went  off  galloping  and  whickering  after  her  colt  as  it  was 
dashing  furiously  down  the  lane. 


OLD   FRIENDS  AND   NEW. 


17! 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE  lessons  progressed.  The  young  man  was  proud  of 
his  ability  to  teach  so  fine  a  young  woman  as  Lucy,  and 
she  was  repaying  his  work  by  making  rapid  progress.  She 
had  learned  the  elementary  principles  of  Latin  at  school, 
and,  being  uncommonly  quick  of  apprehension,  she  now 
advanced,  easily  and  rapidly.  It  was  only  a  few  weeks  be 
fore  she  was  reading  in  Virgil. 

They  could  not  fail  to  be  friends  now.  No  other  rela 
tion  is  so  favorable  to  the  growth  of  friendship  between 
two  young  persons  of  opposite  sexes.  We  love  those  on 
whom  we  depend ;  and  much  more  do  we  love  those  who 
depend  upon  us.  Lucy  grew  to  be  dependent  upon  Over- 
ton,  not  only  for  what  she  was  to  learn  of  a  dead,  but  for 
the  development  of  her  being  in  the  lore  of  its  own  living 
but  hitherto  unspoken,  language.  All  untaught  as  she  was 
in  the  history  of  life,  whom  had  she  that  could  tell  her  so 
well  of  what  one  like  her  must  soon  needs  begin  to  be  told? 
She  had  always  been  fond  of  her  studies,  but  she  had  never 
before  gone  to  them  with  such  avidity.  She  had  never  had 
such  a  teacher.  Besides  that  he  was  very  handsome  and 
thoroughly  bred  in  all  social  knowledge,  he  was  an  ardent 
and  earnest  teacher.  Well  acquainted  with  mythology, 
and  with  the  history  and  literature  of  the  ancients,  it  was 
a  constant  charm  to  her  to  listen  as  he  taught  her  from 
day  to  day  what  was  to  be  learned  from  the  works  of  this 
great  poet.  He  was  as  fond  of  speaking  as  she  was  of 
listening.  It  was  pleasing  to  see  the  gradual  approxima 
tion  of  these  two  natures  toward  each  other.  It  was  inex 
pressibly  sweet  to  feel  it.  Not  that  they  understood  it 


172 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


fully,  or  could  foresee  what  it  was  to  become.  They  usu 
ally  had  long  sittings  at  recitations ;  neither  ever  grew  tired. 
It  was  never  the  case  that  something  more  could  not  be 
found  to  be  said  about  Troy,  old  Priam,  his  sons  and  their 
wives — his  daughters,  both  unhappy,  one  Cassandra,  a 
prophetess,  but  destined  never  to  be  believed ;  the  other 
Creusa,  wife  of  the  half-divine  ^Eneas — and  others  famous 
as  well  in  Greek  as  Trojan  story.  These  recitations  were 
usually  had  in  the  drawing-room  on  his  return  from  school 
in  the  afternoons,  and  the  announcement  of  supper  usually 
found  them  not  quite  finished.  Sometimes,  as  the  season 
advanced,  they  would  sit  in  the  grove,  and  perhaps  the 
young  teacher  would  be  a  little  more  ardent  as  he  spoke 
of  Ida,  and  Idalus,  and  Cythera,  and  the  wandering  Delos. 
For  the  spring  was  coming  on  fast,  and  long  before  he  had 
been  accustomed  to  such  things  the  birds  were  chirruping 
and  building  their  nests,  and  trees  and  shrubs  were  blos 
soming,  and  the  evening  air  was  beginning  to  be  sweet  to 
breathe  and  to  smell. 

The  school  went  along  henceforth  with  little  difficulty. 
People  were  surprised  and  somewhat  disappointed  to  find 
how  well  their  children  advanced  without  the  stimulus  of 
the  whip ;  indeed,  it  was  soon  found  that  this  discipline 
was  needed  at  home  less  than  formerly.  This  did  not 
look  exactly  right,  and  some  people  shook  their  heads. 
But  the  teacher  was  so  handsome  and  gentlemanlike,  and 
the  children  loved  him  so  well,  and  studied  so  hard,  that 
even  the  oldest  seemed  to  think  that  they  might  wait 
awhile  and  see  what  it  would  all  come  to. 

Brinkly  did  the  best  of  all.  Overton  discovered  that  he 
had  a  more  vigorous  understanding  than  he  at  first  had 
supposed.  Under  the  new  regime  the  boy  grew  apace  in 
all  ways.  Never  did  a  schoolmaster  get  better  pay,  so  far 
as  it  could  be  made  out  of  a  pupil's  love  and  gratitude, 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW. 


173 


than  he  got  in  the  case  of  Brinkly.  All  the  rest,  even  to 
Abel,  were  proud  of  being  the  pupils  of  one  who  they  did 
not  doubt  was  the  most  learned  and  the  best  of  mankind. 

The  lessons  at  the  house  progressed.  It  was  now  the 
first  of  April.  Overton  and  Lucy  were  beginning  in  the 
afternoons  and  upon  Saturdays  to  walk  together  in  the 
woods  adjoining  the  mansion.  Sometimes  with  hooks  and 
lines  they  made  excursions  down  the  creek  for  a  mile  and 
angled  for  perch.  Whenever  they  went  thus  far  they  were 
accompanied  by  Jack ;  often  Brinkly  would  accept  their 
invitation. to  join  them.  He  and  Jack  were  great  friends. 
His  mother  resided  within  a  mile  of  Mr.  Parkinson's,  and, 
notwithstanding  their  difference,  there  was  that  cordial  un 
derstanding  between  the  two  families  which  has  ever  ob 
tained  in  country  neighborhoods  in  Georgia,  and  which  has 
made  the  poor  of  that  State  so  superior  to  those  of  many  of 
the  States  of  the  Union.  There  was  ever  among  these  poor 
a  sense  of  dignity  that  is  not  always  to  be  seen  elsewhere. 
When  Mrs.  Glisson  visited  at  all  (and  this  was  seldom),  she 
would  come  to  the  Parkinsons  as  freely  as  to  any  place  in 
the  neighborhood,  and  she  knew  that  she  nowhere  would 
meet  a  better  welcome.  Brinkly  partook  of  his  mother's 
regard  for  this  family ;  and  as  for  Lucy  Parkinson,  he 
thought  her  to  be  as  nearly  divine  as  was  possible  to  human 
nature. 

One  Saturday  morning  these  four  set  out  together  to  the 
creek.  The  day  was  beautiful.  Trees  were  in  full  foliage ; 
birds  were  full  of  love  and  song.  Lucy,  in  her  gingham 
frock,  her  buckskin  gauntlets,  and  her  wide  straw  hat 
decked  with  a  green  ribbon,  was  very  fair  to  see.  The 
spring  had  imparted  a  livelier  freshness  to  her  complexion ; 
and  as  she  walked  along  and  talked  so  joyously,  Overton 
thought  that  he  had  never  seen  one  so  lovely. 

"  What  a  glorious  thing  it  is  to  be  young! "  said  George, 


1 74  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

as  he  looked  at  Jack  running  to  and  fro  ahead  of  them, 
shouting  and  trying  to  urge  Brinkly  to  a  more  rapid  pace. 

"Are  you  then  so  old  that  you  can  thus  praise  youth?  " 
said  Lucy,  smiling ;  "  I  thought  you  were  a  young  man." 

"To  be  a  child,  I  should  have  said.  See  that  boy: 
how  elastic  and  joyous!  He  has  ten  years  that  are  al 
ready  gone  from  me." 

"  But  have  they  left  nothing  behind  whereby  it  is  good 
to  remember  them  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  indeed!      It  is  a  great  comfort  to  think  so." 

"  Do  you  like  teaching?     You  seem  to." 

"  That  pleasure  has  its  dependences." 

They  walked  on. 

They  were  now  in  the  midst  of  the  forest ;  the  branches 
of  the  trees  on  either  side  of  the  path  completely  shut  out 
the  sun's  rays.  Lucy  had  doffed  her  hat,  and,  tying  a 
noose  in  the  string,  carried  it  upon  her  arm. 

"The  pleasure  of  teaching,"  resumed  Overton,  "de 
pends  somewhat  upon  the  person  who  is  taught." 

"  No  doubt  it  is  influenced  by  the  docility  and  capacity 
of  the  pupil." 

"  And  somewhat,  much  indeed,  upon  the  pupil's  regard 
for  the  teacher.  An  honest  teacher  can  never  enjoy  lead 
ing  a  hostile,  or  even  an  unwilling,  pupil." 

"  In  that  respect  you  must  feel  fully  secure.  Your  pu 
pils  all  regard  you  as  you  could  desire ;  instance  Brinkly 
yonder.  It  would  make  you  vain  to  know  what  he  thinks 
and  says  of  you." 

"  I  know  that  Brinkly  likes  me ;  but  may  not  that  be 
from  contrasting  me  with  Mr.  Meadows?  " 

"  Never!  Brinkly  is  too  fine  a  boy  to  found  his  attach 
ments  upon  mere  contrasts.  Besides,  they  all  like  you." 

"They  all  remember  Mr.  Meadows,"  he  persisted, 
laughing. 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW.  175 

"  They  have  not  all  known  Mr.  Meadows." 

"Who  has  not?" 

«  Why— Jack." 

And  she  again  put  on  her  hat. 

"  True,"  said  Overton,  "  there  is  Jack,  and  a  loving  heart 
he  has,  not  only  for  me,  but  for  all  mankind,  I  believe. 
Yes,  I  do  derive  far  greater  pleasure  from  my  little  school 
than  I  anticipated.  Before  I  came  here  I  was  far  from 
foreseeing  that  within  four  months  I  should  feel  such  sad 
ness  at  the  idea  of  leaving,  even  at  the  end  of  the  year." 

They  reached  the  creek  and  wandered  leisurely  down  the 
stream,  angling  a  little  and  talking  much,  until  they  came 
to  a  high  bluff  thickly  covered  with  laurel.  At  the  bottom 
of  this  bluff  were  two  ledges  of  rock,  about  thirty  feet 
apart,  overhanging  the  creek.  A  narrow  path  winding 
along  the  bank  through  dense  shrubbery  of  various  kinds 
led  to  these  ledges.  On  the  first  of  these  George  and  Lucy 
sat.  It  was  a  place  to  which  the  latter  often  resorted  in 
the  spring  and  summer.  The  water  was  deep,  and  it  eddied 
slowly  on  the  hither  side  as  if  it  loved  to  linger  in  so  cool 
and  lovely  a  place. 

"  A  charming  spot ! "  exclaimed  George. 

"Is  it  not?  "  she  answered.  " I  knew  you  would  say 
so.  I  call  it  Laurel  Hill;  but  Brinkly  and  Jack,  who 
come  here  for  other  purposes  than  mine,  call  it  Rock 
Hole." 

Interwoven  among  the  laurel  were  great  numbers  of  yel 
low  jasmines.  Brinkly  and  Jack  had  followed  the  path  to 
the  farther  side  of  the  bluff,  from  which  it  could  be 
ascended,  and,  gathering  the  flowers,  brought  them  down. 
They  then  seated  themselves  on  the  lower  ledge  of  rocks 
and  angled.  Brinkly  quietly  regarded  from  time  to  time 
Lucy  as  she  wove  garlands  for  his  and  Jack's  hats.  In 
imitation,  Overton  wove  one  and  fastened  it  around  hers. 

12 


176 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


It  might  have  been  done  more  handsomely,  but  she  did 
not  reject  it. 

They  talked  more  than  they  angled,  especially  Overton, 
about  many  things;  among  others,  of  Daphne,  of  whom 
these  laurel  shades  reminded  him.  How  Daphne  was  the 
daughter  of  the  Peneus,  and  was  loved  by  Apollo.  Apollo, 
after  the  slaughter  of  the  Python,  had  ridiculed  the  little 
bow  and  arrows  of  Cupid ;  the  latter  in  revenge  took  two 
shafts  from  his  quiver,  and  with  the  one  sharpened  with 
iron  he  pierced  the  boastful  victor,  and  with  the  other 
blunted  with  lead  he  shot  Daphne.  The  one  created  love, 
the  other  dislike.  She  fled,  and  Apollo  pursued  her  to  the 
laurel  shades.  Finding  herself  about  to  be  overtaken,  she 
cried  to  her  father.  The  river-god  heard  her  and  changed 
her  form  to  the  laurel,  and  this  was  why  the  laurel  was 
made  sacred  to  Apollp.  One  might  well  imagine  this  to 
be  the  very  spot  to  which  she  had  fled  from  her  lover. 

But  Cupid  used  to  do  such  strange  things. 

Lucy  looked  at  the  two  boys  fishing. 

"Music,"  said  George,  "would  sound  sweetly  in  this 
place,  so  still  and  shady." 

She  made  no  answer. 

"  Have  you  never  sung  here  ?  " 

"  Sometimes,"  she  answered,  smiling. 

He  asked  her  to  sing. 

"  Do  you  know  ' The  Poet's  Sigh '?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  am  familiar  with  the  words,  but  have  never  known 
it  set  to  music." 

She  sang  it  low  and  clear.  When  she  repeated  for  the 
last  time  the  refrain — 

"  Then  here's  to  her  who  long 

Hath  waked  the  poet's  sigh ; 
The  girl  who  gave  to  song 

What  gold  could  never  buy  " — 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW. 


177 


she  turned  unconsciously  to  Overton,  and  her  voice  trem 
bled  in  concluding.  He  was  looking  and  listening  with  his 
whole  being. 

"  Beautiful,"  he  said  quietly. 

She  cast  down  her  eyes.  She  did  not  sing  any  more. 
He  did  not  ask  her.  She  was  sitting  upon  the  highest 
promontory  of  the  ledge,  with  her  face  looking  down  the 
stream;  he,  a  few  feet  back,  reclined  against  the  bluff. 
He  made  no  motion,  but  sat  still,  looking  at  the  singer. 
She  averted  her  eyes  in  the  instant  of  their  meeting  his, 
cast  them  down,  and  curiously  contemplated  the  wreath 
upon  her  hat.  If  she  had  looked  a  moment  more  she 
would  have  shown  him  how  she  saw  and  how  she  valued 
all  that  he  was  thinking. 

It  is  a  delicious  thing  to  feel  that  we  are  as  those  whom 
we  are  most  fond  to  please  would  have  us  to  be.  It  is 
like,  and  even  of  a  kind  with,  the  consciousness  of  the 
favor  of  the  Divine  Being.  Exquisitely  sweet  to  this 
young  woman  was  the  feeling  of  the  possession  of  beauty 
and  goodness ;  sweeter  than  ever  before,  because  these 
were  the  charms  which  had  drawn  to  her  this  young  man's 
adoration.  It  was  sweet  to  him,  too,  to  behold  the  pleas 
ure  which  the  feeling  of  that  adoration  afforded.  How 
true  what  Goethe  says,  that  the  first  propensity  to  love  in 
young  hearts  that  are  uncorrupted  by  vice  is  used  to  as 
sume  a  spiritual  form,  in  conformity  with  the  law  of  our 
nature,  which  designs  that  one  sex  should  be  awakened  by 
the  other  to  the  love  and  appreciation  of  the  best  and 
worthiest. 

They  had  not  observed  how  still  and  silent  Brinkly  sat 
upon  the  rocks  below  while  they  were  talking ;  and  Jack, 
who  had  grown  tired,  was  reclining  asleep  against  the 
bluff.  Why  sat  the  orphan  so  still  and  silent,  his  fishing- 
rod  lying  by  his  side  ?  Was  it  because  a  better  fortune 


I78  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

had  not  bestowed  upon  him  the  goodly  gifts  which  that 
young  woman  sees  and  admires  in  the  youth  by  her  side? 
Has  he  too  been  building,  though  far  away  in  secret,  a 
little  altar  whereon,  because  he  could  not  avoid  it,  he  has 
been  placing  the  offering  of  all  that  was  ever  conceived  in 
his  simple  heart  to  be  possible  to  him?  We  cannot  say. 
When  Lucy  called  to  him  and  Jack,  he  rose,  descended  upon 
the  other  side  of  the  rocks,  knelt  down,  bathed  his  face, 
and  dried  it  with  his  rude  handkerchief.  There  he  broke 
down,  not  rudely,  but  gently,  that  little  altar ;  and  when 
he  joined  Overton  and  Lucy  his  brave  heart  throbbed  with 
all  the  pleasure  he  could  bring  himself  to  feel  as  he  looked 
upon  his  teacher  with  a  quiet  smile  of  congratulation. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

OVERTON  gave  a  week's  holiday  for  the  purpose  of  at 
tending  the  sessions  of  the  Superior  Court. 

As  he  was  returning  one  afternoon,  he  reached  the  cot 
tage  of  Mrs.  Glisson.  Before  the  gate,  hitched  to  a  post, 
stood  Lucy  Parkinson's  riding-horse,  and  she  was  sitting 
with  the  widow  and  Brinkly  before  the  door. 

" '  Light ! "  said  the  widow,  in  a  hospitable  tone.  Brinkly 
was  already  at  the  gate,  and  while  he  tied  the  horse  by  the 
side  of  Lucy's,  which  made  a  great  show  of  delight  at  his 
fellow's  return,  Overton  advanced  to  the  house.  Lucy 
rose,  made  a  slight  readjustment  of  her  dress  and  hat,  and 
gave  him  her  hand. 

"  We  did  not  expect  you  quite  so  soon,"  she  said. 

The  widow  was  delighted  to  have  these  two  favonVky,  as 
she  called  them,  at  her  house,  and  in  no  time  she  had 
brought  from  the  kitchen  a  small  pine  table,  spread  a  clean 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW. 


179 


white  cloth,  and  placed  upon  it  cakes  and  strawberries  and 
cream. 

"  Now  you  two  jes'  set  right  down  thar  and  eat  'em.  I 
made  'em  for  you  and  picked  'em  for  you :  that  is,  Brinkly 
he  done  the  pickin'.  I  want  you  two  to  have  'em,  and 
God  bless  your  two  souls  and  bodies." 

This  was  a  hearty  grace,  they  thought. 

It  might  have  been  because  they  were  happy  for  having 
met  again  at  the  board  after  several  days  of  separation,  or 
they  might  have  been  willing  to  gratify  their  humble  host 
ess  by  se'eming  to  enjoy  her  hospitality.  It  might  have 
been  that,  both  being  young  and  healthy,  they  had  appe 
tites,  and  it  now  being  late  in  the  day,  they  could  not  see 
why  they  might  not  be  comforted  by  what  was  good  when 
it  was  offered  with  such  cheer.  So  they  ate.  The  first 
serving  was  nearly  consumed.  The  hostess,  with  a  huge 
pewter  spoon,  clean  and  bright  as  rubbing  could  make  it, 
piled  up  the  deep  saucers  again  and  poured  in  the  rich 
cream. 

"  Brinkly,"  she  said,  in  most  hospitable  inattention  to 
their  remonstrances — "  Brinkly,  my  son,  go  to  the  kitchen 
and  fetch  here  that  hot  cake  off  the  spider." 

Good  old  times!  when  hospitality  meant  something 
more  than  formal  invitation  and  an  orderly  array  of  silver 
forks,  napkins,  and  finger-bowls ;  when  it  was  not  a  ruinous 
business  for  a  girl  to  send  her  plate  a  second  time  for  what 
she  wanted,  if  it  were  a  slice  of  meat  or  even  a  spoonful  of 
greens ;  when  young  ladies,  even  those  in  love,  could  eat 
at  dinner-tables  with  as  good  appetites  as  those  with  which 
they  now  eat  at  cupboards  and  other  secret  places ;  when 
everybody  ate  as  much  as  was  wanted — sometimes,  to 
gratify  the  earnest  wish  of  the  hostess,  even  eating  a  little 
more. 

Dear  old  times!  when,  if  people  asked  people  to  come 


jgo  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

to  see  them,  it  was  a  sure  sign  that  they  wanted  them ; 
when  people  were  always  at  home,  if  indeed  they  were 
at  home  in  point  of  fact ;  and  if  they  were  not,  and  yet 
were  within  hearing  of  a  horn,  the  blowing  of  it  would 
bring  them  there.  When  calls  were  not  considered  as 
debts  to  be  paid,  which,  when  paid,  transferred  the  entry 
from  the  debit  to  the  credit  side  of  the  account,  thencefor 
ward  excluding  further  visitations  until  there  was  another 
change  of  entries ;  when  people  visited  because  they  felt 
like  it,  and  would  not  have  gone  if  they  hadn't ;  when 
they  carried  their  children  and  their  knitting  and  spent  the 
day,  remembering  that  they  derived  as  much  pleasure  as  they 
imparted  in  such  visitations. 

I  met  not  long  ago  an  old  Georgian,  something  the 
worse,  like  myself,  from  time  and  the  war.  We  had  a 
moderate  mint-julep,  and  were  sipping  along  and  talking 
to  each  other  of  those  old  times  when  even  the  mint 
seemed  fresher  and  more  fragrant  than  now,  especially  in 
this  latitude.  We  talked  of  the  old-time  visits ;  how  the 
women  sat  at  the  house  and  knitted  and  sewed,  and  the 
men  sat  at  the  spring  where  the  pig  was  barbecuing,  and 
whittled  with  their  knives,  and  chatted,  and  made  bows  and 
arrows  and  popguns  for  the  children;  and  then  when 
called  up  to  dinner !  When  my  friend  got  to  talking  about 
the  chicken-pies  we  used  to  have  in  those  days,  the  old 
fellow  cried.  I  laughed  at  him  a  little  at  first ;  but  he  was 
so  feeling  when,  after  finishing  his  julep  and  laying  down 
the  tumbler  softly  on  the  ground  under  the  trees  where  we 
were  sitting,  he  spoke  about  the  sort  of  crust  they  had 
then,  and  the  oceans  of  gravy  at  the  bottom,  I  cried  some 
too.  I  couldn't  help  it. 

Blessed  old  times!  They  had  their  errors  and  their 
evils.  Many  of  these  have  been  corrected,  and  others,  I 
trust,  will  be  in  reasonable  time.  Would  that  what  were 


OLD    FRIENDS   AND   NEW.  181 

some  of  their  greatest  goods,  the  simplicity  of  ancient  man 
ners  and  the  cordiality  of  social  intercourse,  could  have 
been  found  to  be  not  uncongenial  with  our  advancing 
civilization ! 

Overton  and  Lucy  rode  home  together. 

The  evening  was  delightful.  The  woods  on  either  side 
of  the  road  were  redolent  with  sweet  odors,  and  the  pink 
and  white  flowers  among  the  abundant  shrubbery,  contrasted 
with  the  varying  green  of  the  forest  trees,  were  beautiful 
to  see. 

"  You've  had  a  good  rest  this  week,"  said  Overton. 

"  Not  a  bit ;  I  have  been  studying  more  than  usual.  I 
have  read  the  whole  of  the  Fourth  Book  since  you  have 
been  gone." 

"Indeed!  And  you  have  read  all  about  the  career  of 
Dido,  and  I  was  not  here  to  enjoy  it  with  you!  That  is 
the  most  interesting  of  all  the  books.  How  did  you  like  the 
Carthaginian  Queen?  " 

"  I  liked  her — in  some  respects  very  well ;  but  I  think 
she  might  have  expected  such  a  result  from — forgetting 
what  certainly  a  higher  delicacy  would  have  made  her 
remember.  But  I  was  deeply  interested  in  her  grief  and 
her  unhappy  ending." 

"  It  is  a  pretty  episode.  As  for  her  want  of  delicacy,  we 
must  remember  that  Cupid  was  in  that  case,  as  in  that  of 
Phoebus  and  Daphne,  and  in  those  times  even  the  goddesses 
did  not  afford  the  best  examples  in  delicacy  to  women. 

"  But  for  the  poet  to  make  her  fall  in  love  twice — I  did 
not  like  that.  I  suppose,  however,  he  must  follow  the 
legend." 

"  Yes,  in  that  respect,"  answered  George ;  "  but,"  he  re 
sumed,  smiling,  "  Virgil  took  a  great  liberty  with  chronol 
ogy  in  order  to  get  in  the  legend.  There  was  once  a  story 
that  the  bards  indicted  Virgil  before  Apollo  for  making 


!g2  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

Dido  fall  in  love  with  JEneas  two  hundred  years  before  she 
was  born,  and  that  Apollo  scolded  him  a  little,  but  par 
doned  him  afterward  because  he  was  a  favorite.  You 
will  find  afterward  that  her  old  love  for  Sichseus  returned, 
and  that  when  j^Eneas  met  her  in  the  lower  regions  she 
would  not  so  much  as  speak  to  him,  but  ran  away  and 
sought  the  side  of  her  first  love." 

"  What  strange  things  there  are  in  those  old  books ! "  said 
Lucy.  They  had  just  reached  home. 

After  supper  that  night  Mr.  Parkinson  and  Overton  had 
a  long  conversation  concerning  the  incidents  of  the  week 
and  courts  generally. 

That  night  in  their  chamber,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Parkinson 
had  a  little  talk. 

"  Susan,  that  fellow's  right  in  going  to  the  law,  and  he 
knows  it.  A  pity!  a  pity!" 

"A  pity  what?  "  she  asked. 

"  That  he  has  nothing." 

"Nothing  of  what?" 

"  Why,  money,  my  dear." 

"  He  will  make  it,  no  doubt." 

"  That's  not  the  thing ;  he  ought  to  have  it  now." 

"  Never  mind ;  we  can  help  him,  if  he  should  need  it, 
until  he  gets  where  he  will  not — that  won't  be  long.  We 
owe  it  to  him  for  what  he  has  done  for  Jack." 

,  "  I  wish  he  had  money  to  be  able  to  support  himself  in 
a  rank  suitable  to  his  talents  and  his  family.  I  am  satisfied 
now  that  his  mother's  family  must  have  been  good.  I 
didn't  know  them,  as  I  told  you ;  but  I've  no  doubt  that 
they  were  all  right.  And,  indeed,  those  Overtons  would 
not  have  intermarried  with  a  family  beneath  themselves. 
I  wish,  however — of  course  on  his  account — that  he  had 
some  means  of  his  own." 

"  I  tell  you,  darling,  he  does  not  need  them  now ;  and 


OLD    FRIENDS   AND   NEW.  I^5 

will  not  as  long  as  you  are  the  dear,  good,  generous  old 
fellow  that  you  are." 

"  Humph!  "  Mr.  Parkinson  did  not  and  probably  could 
not  explain  what  he  meant  by  this  ejaculation ;  so  he  went 
off  to  sleep. 

The  next  day  in  the  afternoon  the  lessons  at  the  house 
were  resumed.  They  must  review  the  story  of  Dido.  That 
is  not  a  story  to  be  read  by  one's  self. 

"  Queen  Dido,"  said  Lucy,  "  was,  indeed,  a  lovely  char 
acter  as  Virgil  represents  her ;  but  in  one  respect  it  is  very 
imperfect.  Can  you  guess  what  I  mean?  " 

"  Because  she  fell  in  love  again  after  the  death  of  her 
husband?" 

"  No ;  I  have  been  thinking  of  that.  That,  indeed, 
would  seem  impossible,  but  that  I  have  known  some  ex 
cellent  women  who  have  done  the  same  thing." 

"  Was  it,  then,  that  she  did  so  after  so  short  an  acquaint 
ance?  " 

"  No,  not  exactly  that  either,"  she  answered ;  and  con 
tinued  with  some  hesitation :  "  It  was  soon,  very  soon ; 
but  I  can  understand  that.  Then  y£neas  was  a  godlike 
man,  and,  as  you  say,  Cupid  was  on  hand  to  inspire.  And 
then  he  was  an  exile  seeking  for  a  home  and  kingdom.  Then 
the  queen  was  surrounded  by  barbarous  and  hostile  kings, 
and  needed,  or  thought  she  needed,  a  man  and  a  hero  to 
conduct  successfully  her  city's  relations  with  strangers.  I 
can  well  understand  how  such  things  might  happen.  But 
that  is  not  what  I  was  thinking  of.  And  you  cannot 
guess?  " 

"  No,  unless  it  was  her  conduct  after  the  departure  of  her 
lover." 

"  Oh  no,  no,  not  that !  — that  was  the  most  natural  thing 
of  all.  It  is  that  she — I  hardly  know  how  to  express  it, 
but  she  seems  to  me  to  have  been  too  ready  to  let  her  lover 


!84  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

know  the  state  of  her  feelings,  and  too  ready  to  presume 
that  he  was  similarly  impressed." 

"  Oh,  she  could  not  fail  to  know  that  the  Trojan,  after 
those  years  of  wandering,  would  rejoice  in  the  assurance 
of  rest  and  a  kingdom,  especially  when  to  these  was  super- 
added  such  a  woman." 

"  But  the  poet  should  have  represented  her  as  waiting  for 
a  declaration  of  preference  on  his  part  for  her,  individually 
and  especially." 

"  She  could  not  fail  to  know  that  from  the  conscious 
ness  of  her  own  perfections.  A  queen,  ruling  over  a  power 
ful  people,  young  and  beautiful,  would  have  no  doubt  upon 
that  point.  Besides,  you  remember  that  she  had  said 
nothing  to  ^Eneas.  We  know  that  she  loved  him  because 
she  had  confessed  to  her  sister  Anna.  But  he  did  not  know 
it,  or  was  presumed  not  to  know  it,  until  the  hour  of  their 
mutual  avowal.  Yet  would  you  not  admit  that  in  certain 
circumstances  the  woman  might  be  the  first  to  avow  her 
love?  " 

She  hesitated. 

"  In  the  case  of  sovereigns,  where  marriages  are  managed 
generally  for  the  sake  of  political  purposes,  I  suppose  such 
a  thing  might  not  be  far  amiss ;  but  when  it  is  purely  a 
matter  of  personal  regard,  I  cannot  imagine  it  possible, 
consistent  with  delicacy." 

"  In  no  circumstances?  " 

"  None." 

They  were  both  silent  for  several  minutes. 

"  Suppose,"  said  George  at  length,  "  that  she  knew  that 
a  man  loved  her  with  all  the  strength  of  his  whole  being, 
suppose  that  his  love  had  been  so  ardent  and  single  that  in 
her  heart  of  hearts  she  had  grown  to  reciprocate  it ;  then 
suppose  that  he  was  so  related  either  to  her  or  to  her 
family  that  he  could  not,  or  she  knew  that  he  thought  he 


OLD    FRIENDS   AND   NEW.  ^5 

could  not,  in  faith  and  honor,  make  that  avowal  himself — 
then  what?  " 

He  turned  his  deep  blue  eyes  upon  her.  She  knew  it, 
although  she  did  not  look  up  for  a  minute,  in  which  she 
was  slowly  turning  the  leaves  of  the  book.  Then  she  sud 
denly  lifted  her  face  to  him  and  answered : 

"  In  such  an  event  I — should  think  that  both  should 
wait  until  that  relation  was  ended." 

She  turned  her  face  away  and  blushed.  Overton  felt  a 
thrill  of  pleasure,  but  he  said  nothing.  He  knew  he  could 
not  trust  himself  to  speak  in  that  wise  any  more  now ;  and 
he  saw  that  she  was  frightened.  He  took  the  book  from 
her  hands,  and  said: 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  trial  of  fortunes  by  the  Vir- 
gilian  Lots?  " 

"  No,  indeed ;  how  is  that?  " 

"  It  is  an  old  fashion,  but  it  was  once  believed  to  be  in 
fallible.  During  the  Middle  Ages,  and  even  later,  Virgil 
was  considered  to  have  been  a  wizard.  Kings  and  com 
mons  consulted  him  alike.  It  has  been  said  of  Charles  the 
First  that  when  he  was  planning  his  escape  from  Caris- 
brooke  Castle,  he  resorted  to  the  Virgilian  Lots.  The 
way  they  are  tried  is  this :  you  make  a  wish,  then  open 
casually  the  book,  and  the  sentence  on  which  your  eye  first 
falls  will  give  the  answer  to  your  wish." 

"How  curious!" 

"Shall  we  try  it?" 

"  I  have  no  objection.     You  will  try  first." 

"Here  goes!" 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  and,  opening  the  book, 
placed  his  finger  upon  the  page. 

"  Read  it,"  he  said,  without  looking  at  it.  It  was  the 
line  in  the  First  Book,  running  thus : 

"  Scd  magno  vEnerc  mecum  teneatur  amore." 


!86  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

Lucy  looked  at  it  for  a  moment,  and  then  tried  to  hide 
with  her  hands  the  blushes  that  were  deeper  than  before. 
He  glanced  at  the  line. 

"  It  is  singular,"  he  said.     "  Will  you  try  yours?  " 

"  Not  now." 

Then  she  arose  and  went  to  her  chamber. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

MIDSUMMER.  The  lessons,  both  at  the  schoolhouse  and 
the  mansion,  had  been  going  on  well ;  and  now  from  the 
former  the  schoolmaster  thought  he  needed  a  little  rest. 
He  was  thinking  of  closing  the  school  quietly  for  a  couple 
of  weeks ;  but  from  time  immemorial  in  that  section  the 
custom  had  been  to  hold,  at  least  in  midsummer,  a  public 
examination  of  the  pupils.  The  parents  were  so  anxious 
upon  this  point  that  Mr.  Parkinson  persuaded  Overton  to 
yield. 

With  what  interest,  with  what  awful  anxiety  that  day 
was  expected!  Boys  and  girls  prepared  for  it  as  for  an 
epoch  that  was  to  absorb  the  attention  of  all  mankind.  As 
for  the  amount  of  studying  that  was  done,  figures  and 
words  would  be  wholly  inadequate  to  calculate  and  tell 
of  it.  Yet,  if  one  could  believe  them,  every  one  was  des 
tined  to  fail.  Betsy  Wiggins  was  going  to  be  scared  to 
death.  She  just  knew  she  was.  Mandy  Grizzle  could  tell 
just  as  well  now  as  after  the  thing  was  all  over  that  she  was 
going  to  miss  every  word  that  was  asked  her,  even  if  it  was 
to  tell  what  her  own  blessed  name  was.  As  for  Mely  Jones 
and  Henritter  Bangs,  they  were  both  bent  on  telling  their 
mothers  that  if  they  didn't  want  to  be  everlastingly  dis 
graced  they  had  better  not  come  to  that  schoolhouse  on 


OLD   FRIENDS  AND  NEW.  .  187 

that  day.  It  was  a  contest  between  Sam  Pate  and  Bill 
Jones  which  was  going  to  burst  open  the  widest.  The 
probabilities  were  that,  if  not  on  the  night  before,  at  least 
on  the  morning  of  the  awful  day,  Asa  Boatright  calmly  and 
affectionately  would  bid  the  world  farewell.  Abel  made  no 
promises  nor  threats,  but  we  know  what  a  firm  fellow  he  was. 

The  day  previous  to  the  examination  was  devoted  to 
preparation  for  the  entertainment.  The  ground  in  front  of 
the  schoolhouse  was  carefully  swept  by  the  girls,  and  an 
arbor  of  green  boughs  constructed  by  the  boys.  Mr.  Par 
kinson  had  furnished  planks  and  blocks  of  wood  for  the 
seats.  The  little  piazza  was  to  be  the  stage.  Wreaths  of 
flowers  were  hung  around  its  pillars  and  the  posts  of  the 
arbor.  But  the  great  thing  of  the  whole  arrangement  was 
a  floral  vignette  festooned  over  the  door  by  Lucy,  in 
which,  in  large  letters  made  of  cedar-leaves,  were  the  words 
"  DEVOTED  TO  LEARNING  AND  VIRTUE." 

She  had  arranged  it  at  home,  and  availing  herself  of  an 
occasion  when  all  the  pupils  were  out  of  sight  to  fix  it  in  its 
place,  she  called  them  to  see  it.  In  their  opinions,  never 
had  been  seen  before  such  a  magnificent  work  of  art. 
Some  had  a  dim  idea  of  the  design ;  others  where  wholly 
in  the  dark,  and  their  admiration  was  the  highest.  They 
didn't  need  to  have  it  explained.  They  didn't  want  it  ex 
plained  ;  there  it  was,  and  let  it  explain  itself.  Brinkly  did 
indeed  attempt  to  make  Sam  Pate  understand  it,  but  Sam 
had  no  idea  that  Brinkly  did  it  justice. 

"Means  the  schoolhouse!"  said  Sam  indignantly:  "it 
means  everything,  by  Jings! "  And  he  looked  and  looked, 
and  he  felt  in  his  soul  that  those  letters,  to  say  the  least, 
were  the  index  to  all  human  knowledge.  When  Abel  got 
home  that  afternoon  he  tried  to  give  his  mother  some  idea 
of  it,  but  from  his  account  she  couldn't  make  it  out.  So 
he  told  her  impatiently  to  wait  and  see  for  herself,  and  that 


X88  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

he  didn't  have  no  time  to  bother  with  nobody  nor  nothin' 
that  night  exceptin'  of  his  books. 

The  great  day  came.  It  was  sunny,  but  not  too  warm. 
The  pupils  had  all  come  very  soon  after  breakfast.  Whoever 
might  have  liked  to  see  a  little  crowd  of  fresh  and  anxious 
yet  happy  children,  there  was  the  place  and  then  was  the 
time.  They  were  mighty  serious  under  the  burden  of  im 
pending  responsibilities,  but  proud  and  happy.  This  was 
the  day  on  which  the  mysteries  of  knowledge  were  to  be 
exhibited  to  their  parents  and  friends.  Not  only  so,  but 
there  was  that  glorious  inscription  which  was  to  fill  all  be 
holders  with  wonder,  of  the  glory  of  which  they  were  par 
ticipants,  and  the  mighty  meaning  of  which  was  known  to 
no  outsiders. 

They  came  up  early.  The  boys  wore  clean  copperas- 
dyed  pants  and  brown  linen  jackets.  The  girls,  in  striped 
homespun  frocks  and  checked  aprons,  with  their  red  cheeks 
and  round  figures,  were  types  in  their  way,  I  tell  you.  Mely 
Jones  was  the  oldest  and  the  most  advanced,  and  she  had 
on  a  calico  which  had  been  proven  to  have  come  from 
Augusta.  It  had  not  been  seen  often,  but  when  it  had 
been  it  was  noticed. 

Oh,  you  Mely!  you  are  not  so  far  ahead  of  Betsy  Wig 
gins  that  she  may  not  overtake  you  in  a  year  or  two.  She 
has  no  calico ;  but  look  at  the  buckle  in  that  belt,  and  say 
if  it  doesn't  outshine  yours! 

And  see  that  flounce  of  Mandy  Grizzle!  I  want  you  to 
look  at  that,  and  then  at  that  ribbon  round  the  neck  of 
Henritter  Bangs,  which  last  week,  only  last  week,  by  fortu 
nate  accident  had  been  bought  from  a  peddler,  who  pledged 
the  word  and  honor  of  a  gentleman  that  it  had  not  been 
taken  out  of  the  box  since  he  bought  it  in  Philamadelphy. 

"Philadelphia,  Henry!"  said  Mely,  who  prided  herself 
on  her  geography  ;  "  not  Philamadelphy." 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW. 


189 


"  No,"  maintained  Henritter ;  "  they  was  the  very  words 
he  said  now.  And  he  stayed  all  night  at  our  house  ;  and  he 
had  a  blue  wagon,  and  streaked  and  striped  wheels ;  and  he 
.had  a  short-tailed  black  dog ;  and  he  slept  under  the  wagon  ; 
and  he  wouldn't  let  nobody  go  nigh  that  wagon ;  and  he 
whipped  our  dog  Wallis,  and  Wallis  was  a  heap  the  big 
gest  ;  and  pap  said  he  wouldn't  a  believed  it ;  and  he  said 
that  it  was  the  first  time  he  ever  knowed  Wallis  to  be 
whipped  by  ary  nother  dog ;  and  ma  said  that  he  had  the 
prettiest  things  that  she  see  ary  pedler  have  in  a  long  time ; 
and  she  ac.tilly  made  pap  buy  her  a  set  of  knives  and  forks, 
which  pap  said  that  we  didn't  need  'em,  but  ma  and  the  man 
talked  around  him  so  fast  and  good  that  he  couldn't  help 
it ;  and  then  he  said  that  them  ribbons  come  all  the  way  from 
Philamadelphy.  Now  they  was  jes'  the  very  words  he  said." 

Mely  had  to  let  her  alone. 

But  where  was  Abel?  All  were  there  except  him.  He 
was  wont  to  be  the  most  punctual  of  the  punctual.  Where 
was  he?  And  now  yonder  came  on  a  gentleman  of  about 
his  size,  and  from  the  direction  whence  he  used  to  come. 
Nobody  had  any  idea  who  it  was.  He  walked  by  the  side 
or  a  little  in  advance  of  a  woman,  whom  he  held  by  the 
hand  and  apparently  was  trying  to  tug  along  faster.  He 
was  clad  in  new  clothes  from  head  to  foot — a  green  cotton 
frock-coat  and  nankeen  pants  striped,  actually  striped. 
From  his  head  hung  backwardly  a  new  straw  hat.  These 
articles  were  full  large,  and  left,  as  they  were  designed  to 
leave,  ample  room  for  growing.  Shoes?  Yes,  shoes!  and 
if  they  ain't  rights  and  lefts!  They  too  were  somewhat 
oversized,  and  the  legs  of  the  gentleman  in  question  made 
rather  a  slim  figure  as  they  came  out  of  them.  But  this 
wasn't  all.  Would  you  believe  it?  he  had  on  a  cravat — a 
barfdana  cravat — and  one  side  of  his  collar  was  sawing  his 
ear  at  every  step  he  took. 


I9o  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

Who  could  it  be?  He  almost  dragged  the  lady  along, 
who,  as  she  approached,  seemed  amused  at  what  she 
probably  considered  unnecessary  haste  on  such  a  warm 
morning.  As  he  got  under  the  arbor,  his  eyes  alternated 
between  the  lady  and  the  schoolhouse  door.  Right  up  to 
the  latter  he  marched,  and,  pointing  to  the  inscription, 
cried : 

"  Look-ee  thar!      Didn't  I  tell  you  so?  " 

That  voice  could  not  be  mistaken.  It  was  the  voice  of 
Abel. 

He  looked  at  his  mother  with  an  expression  almost 
ferocious.  He  seemed  to  feel  that  he  had  done  his  duty  in 
leading  her  to  the  vestibule  of  the  temple  of  wisdom,  but 
that  she  was  too  far  gone  in  ignorance  to  enter  in.  So, 
leaving  her  to  take  care  of  herself,  he  pulled  off  his  hat, 
rushed  in,  and  was  the  first  to  take  his  seat.  Finding  that 
he  was  yet  too  early,  he  rose  again  after  a  moment  or  two, 
walked  out  into  the  yard,  and,  without  saying  much  to  any 
one,  directed  his  observations  in  turns  to  the  inscription, 
the  visitors  as  they  came  up,  and  his  own  coat  and  shoes. 

Jack  Parkinson,  notwithstanding  that  he  was  a  general 
favorite,  yet  was  the  object  of  a  little,  only  a  little,  jealousy 
on  account  of  his  better  clothes.  The  difference  in  this 
respect,  however,  had  grown  less  gradually.  Mrs.  Parkin 
son  had  made  this  change  (and  fully  with  Jack's  consent) 
out  of  regard  for  the  feelings  of  people  whom  she  considered 
in  all  other  respects  except  worldly  possessions  as  good 
as  herself.  Even  on  this  public  occasion  Jack  had  only  a 
suit  of  linen,  but  cut  and  fitted  so  as  to  make  him  look  fine. 
Abel  liked  Jack  very  well ;  but  he  was  bound  to  turn  him 
down  one  time.  He  had  been  eying  him  for  some  time. 
Finally  he  sidled  up  to  where  Jack  was  standing  and  talking 
to  Brinkly.  He  then  looked  alternately  at  Jack's  clothes 
and  his  own.  He  did  not  speak  a  word ;  but  his  counte- 


OLD    FRIENDS   AND   NEW.  !9! 

nance,  as  plainly  as  could  have  been  done  by  words,  asked : 
"  How  do  you  feel  now,  my  lively  lad?  " 

Jack  complimented  and  Brinkly  looked  benignly  upon 
him.  How  Brinkly  had  grown! — every  way.  He  was 
taller  by  much,  and  his  face  and  form  were  beginning  to 
assume  the  appearance  of  manhood.  Frequent  association 
with  his  teacher  had  given  him  much  gentleness  of  manner. 
Overton  admired  him  more  and  more,  and  gloried  in  in 
structing  him.  He  had  presented  Brinkly  with  a  coat  of 
bombazine  cloth  for  this  occasion,  for  which  his  mother 
seemed  to  .think  that  she  and  her  son  ought  to  work  in 
payment  for  the  rest  of  their  lives. 

After  Abel  had  got  through  with  Jack,  he  looked  criti 
cally  and  doubtingly  at  Brinkly's  coat ;  then  glancing  down 
at  his  own  tails,  he  seemed  reassured  and  strutted  off 
again. 

And  now  the  visitors  were  gathering — some  on  foot,  a 
few  old  people  in  gigs,  but  the  most  on  horseback.  Bounc 
ing  girls,  some  with  beaux  and  some  without,  rode  up  on 
spirited  horses,  and  tying  them  to  the  limbs  of  trees,  alighted, 
generally  without  assistance.  About  two  hundred  persons 
were  present.  The  patrons  of  the  school  had  contributed 
to  furnish  a  dinner,  and  early  in  the  morning  Allen  Thig- 
pen,  who  was  to  superintend  the  barbecue,  announced  to 
Mr.  Parkinson  that  all  the  carcasses  which  had  been  put 
down  had  come  and  were  now  in  the  pit. 

The  last  visitors  to  arrive  were  Miss  Thigpen  and  Miss 
Aery,  escorted  by  Mr.  Bill  Williams.  This  gentleman  had 
asked  for  a  day's  holiday,  and  had  got  it.  Mr.  Bill  seldom 
made  a  request  of  that  sort  of  late  but  it  was  granted. 
Messrs.  Bland  &  Jones  were  growing  very  obliging,  it 
seemed,  and  let  him  go  whenever  he  pleased.  To-day  Mr. 
Jones  had  even  lent  him  his  horse  to  ride.  Miss  Aery  had 
gone  the  day  before  to  the  Thigpens',  partly  on  a  visit,  and- 


192 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


partly  preparatory  to  attending  the  examination.  Mr.  Bill 
had  got  there  early,  and  was  cordially  received  by  the  two 
ladies.  His  attentions  since  the  last  time  we  saw  him  had 
been  divided  between  them.  His  mother  had  urged  him 
again  and  again  to  go  right  straight  along  and  ask  Miss  Kar- 
line  to  have  him,  and  not  come  away  until  she  said  yes ;  and 
then  go  right  straight  to  work  and  git  ready  and  git  married, 
and  quit  all  that  foolishness  of  keeping  of  a  store.  Mr. 
Bill  could  but  admit  that  things  were  going  wrong  there  in 
general.  The  stock  was  getting  wild.  Old  Molly  had 
tried  her  best  to  fling  him  coming  from  meeting,  and  even 
while  he  was  riding  along  with  Miss  Karline.  If  it  had 
been  anybody  else  but  him  on  top  of  her  she  would  have  flung 
him  and  probably  broke  some  bones.  As  for  that  colt, 
which  he  were  now  a  mule-colt,  he  had  torn  down  fences, 
and  he  actilly  believed  that  same  colt  would  jump  over  the 
moon  providing  he  wanted  to  go  over  on  t'other  side,  and 
old  Molly,  in  course,  would  foller  straight  arfter  him.  They 
all  need  him,  that's  who  they  need. 

Still  he  hesitated.  The  more  attentive  he  was  to  Miss 
Karline,  the  more  gracious  became  Miss  Betsy  Ann.  If 
he  lagged  at  all  in  his  attentions  to  the  former,  the  latter 
grew  a  little  colder.  With  all  his  knowledge  of  women 
generally,  he  sometimes  doubted  if  he  understood  Betsy 
Ann  fully.  It  was  only  a  day  or  two  before  the  examina 
tion  that  Betsy  Ann  had  carried  with  her  own  hands  a 
counterpane  to  Mrs.  Williams  as  a  present  from  herself  and 
Miss  Karline  jointly,  though  Betsy  Ann  confessed  that  it 
was  mostly  the  work  of  Miss  Karline.  She  needn't  have 
done  that ;  for  it  was  Bonaparte  a-crossin'  o'  the  Rhine ; 
and,  with  all  her  efforts  and  instructions  in  that  line,  Betsy 
Ann  could  not  yet  quite  get  up  to  Miss  Karline  in  thus 
illustrating  that  achievement  of  the  illustrious  Gaul.  Mrs. 
Williams,  on  receiving  the  present,  had  taken  upon  herself 


OLD   FRIENDS  AND   NEW. 


193 


to  go  into  Dukesborough  and  tell  her  son  that  her  desires 
was  that  he  should  go  as  straight  as  possible  to  Miss  Kar- 
line,  and  not  to  come  away  till  to  such  questions  as  he  might 
ask  her  she  should  say  yes.  It  wasn't  worth  while  to  be 
fooling  any  longer ;  and  if  he  didn't  strike  now  while  the 
iron  was  hot,  in  her  opinion  it  would  get  cold. 

So  Mr.  Bill,  with  a  yet  uncertain  mind,  however,  went 
to  the  examination.  He  was  very  gay  this  morning,  and 
gotten  up  uncommonly  well.  The  only  extravagance  about 
him  was  a  nice  little  green  riding-whip,  with  a  cracker 
twisted  of  crimson  silk.  The  notice  of  the  crowd  was  first 
attracted  to  this  by  the  violence  with  which,  as  he  walked 
to  the  arbor,  he  thrashed  the  dust  from  his  pants  and  coat- 
tails.  There  were  smiles  and  nods  at  his  town  ways.  Allen 
looked  at  him  with  an  expression  that  was  not  entirely  in 
telligible  ;  but  Allen  was  devoted,  as  we  have  seen,  to  his 
sister,  and  was  therefore  determined  to  like  him  as  well 
as  possible. 

The  great  floral  wreath  made  an  impression  far  beyond 
all  expectation.  Lucy,  whom  everybody  considered  the 
greatest  of  her  sex,  was  called  upon  many  times  to  explain 
its  meaning,  no  one  after  hearing  it  appearing  to  be  able 
to  give  anybody  else  a  satisfactory  idea.  It  was  so  interest 
ing,  and  the  fair  artist  talked  so  prettily,  that  those  who 
had  heard  her  several  times  were  as  eager  to  hear  again  as 
new  listeners,  and  as  attentive  to  all  subsequent  explana 
tions.  One  elderly  lady  who  had  heard  about  a  dozen, 
after  looking  through  her  spectacles  in  silence  for  some 
time,  turned  to  Lucy  and  said : 

"  Now,  is  it  nately  so,  or  do  it  jes'  'pear  like?  " 

This  was  rather  a  poser.  Lucy  could  not  answer  readily 
and  categorically.  She  did  the  best  she  could,  however, 
putting  it  somewhere  between  the  two.  The  elderly  lady 
merely  replied : 


194 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


"  Hit  beats  me ! "  and  then  gave  way  to  another. 

The  two  ladies  whom  Mr.  Bill  Williams  had  escorted  ex 
pressed  their  admiration,  and  at  the  same  time  hinted  that 
it  was  a  little  beyond  them  too.  But  Mr.  Bill  thought  he 
could  satisfy  them. 

"  You  see,"  said  he,  "  it  is  a  sign  that  this  here  house  is  a 
school-'ouse,  instid  of  a  meetin'-house,  or  a  dwellin',  or  a 
cote-house,  or  a  sto'-house,  or  a — so  to  speak — blacksmith- 
shop — or  any  other  kind  of  buildin'  exceptin'  of  a  school- 
'ouse.  Oh  yes,  they  ain't  no  doubt  that  that's  what  it  is ; 
and  it  have  been  done  very  well — very  well  indeed.  It  is 
not  altogether  as  solid  as  our  signboard  at  the  sto' ;  but  for 
a  school-'ouse  it  do  very  well — very  well  indeed."  And  he 
bobbed  his  head  condescendingly. 

Oh  yes,  indeed,  they  could  understand  it  about  the 
LEARNING;  but'they  couldn't,  especially  Allen,  quite  com 
prehend  the  last  part  of  the  inscription. 

"  I  sees  your  de-faculties,"  replied  Mr.  Bill.  He  looked 
steadily  and  even  frowningly  at  the  wreath  for  a  moment  or 
two,  and  holding  his  whip  somewhat  as  if  it  had  been  a 
pen,  pointed  to  it,  and  slowly  went  through  the  motions  of 
writing  the  word  Virtue. 

"  Yes,  verier,"  he  said,  as  his  countenance  cleared  up ; 
"verter:  that's  the  de-ficulty,  is  it?  Why,  verter — you 
understand — it  is  a  female.  Yes:  that's  it!  Which  you 
know  thar's  both  girls  and  beys  in  this  school,  and  which 
you  know  in  Dukesborough  Mr.  Cordy  have  the  boys  in 
hisn  an'  Miss  Wilkins  have  the  girls  in  hern.  Yes,  sir; 
verter  is  the  female." 

The  young  ladies  smiled,  and  Allen,  putting  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  walked  off  to  look  after  the  barbecuing. 


OLD   FRIENDS  AND  NEW. 


195 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE  examinations  commenced,  and  it  was  good  to  see 
the  results  of  a  reasonable  and  humane  system  of  instruc 
tion  ;  not  a  parent  there  who  was  not  proud  of  his  children 
that  day.  There  being  but  few  classes,  and  the  studies 
being  simple,  every  pupil  had  a  fair  opportunity  for  distinc 
tion  in  geography,  grammar,  arithmetic,  reading,  and  spell 
ing.  Problems  in  arithmetic  were  done  on  a  blackboard. 
Some  long  ones  would  cover  a  whole  board.  Sam  Pate 
and  Asa  Boatright  did  sums  in  interest  which  made  many 
of  the  audience  imagine  they  foresaw  that  these  boys  were 
destined  to  become  in  time  great  money-lenders.  In  mul 
tiplication  and  division  Abel  seemed  to  exhaust  numbers. 
Bill  Jones  did  the  great  horseshoe  sum.  It  was  such  a  big 
job  of  setting  down  and  rubbing  out,  and  multiplying  and 
adding,  that  Bill  got  himself  white  all  over  with  the  chalk- 
dust.  Bill  didn't  care ;  this  was  business.  Bill  was  after 
that  great  pile  of  money  for  the  last  nail,  and  when  he  had 
got  it  he  turned  to  the  audience,  shook  some  of  the  chalk- 
dust  off,  and  looked  as  if  he  were  seeking  for  investments. 
A  general  murmur  of  relief  and  satisfaction  went  through 
the  audience. 

"Ef  he  ain't  broke,"  whispered  Allen,  "I  be  dinged! 
That's  the  last  horse  that  feller'll  buy."  Then  Allen  said 
seriously  that  he  never  had  believed  that  horseshoe  sum. 
nohow. 

"  Oh,  in  cose,"  answered  Mr.  Bill,  "  I  don't  sposen  that 
no  man,  nor  no  set  o'  men,  wharsomever  they  mout  a  come 
from,  ever  sot  about  a-tradin'  for  horses  in  that  kind  o' 
style.  If  I  was  goin'  to  sell  old  Molly,  and  which  she's  as 


I96  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

good  a  plough-nag  as  ever  hopped  over  a  bush,  and  a  feller 
was  to  begin  talkin'  to  me  about  takin'  of  her  by  the  nail, 
I  should  give  him  sich  a  piece  o'  my  mind  as  would  make 
him  go  arfter  another  customer  quick.  Oh  no,  they  jes' 
sposens  the  case,  and  put  it  in  thar  to  show  what  riggers 
will  do  when  you  keep  on  a  constant  a-pilin'  'em  on  top  o' 
one  another." 

Allen  again  walked  off  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and 
Betsy  Ann  slyly  laughed  as  she  watched  him. 

The  girls  of  the  school  did  splendidly.  They  talked 
about  the  countries  and  the  rivers,  and  mountains  and  des 
erts,  and  oceans  and  lakes,  as  if  they  had  crossed  them 
over  and  over  again  and  were  ready  to  do  it  now,  taking 
with  them  anybody  else  who  might  wish  to  go  along  with 
them. 

Upon  the  whole,  however,  I  believe  Abel  afforded  the 
highest  entertainment.  Abel  was  such  a  scraggy  little  fel 
low  to  look  at,  and  had  done  so  poorly  at  the  Goosepond, 
and  he  had  such  strange  ways,  that  he  was  generally  con 
sidered  as  of  very  weak  understanding.  All  such  notions 
came  to  an  end  to-day. 

By  way,  probably,  of  giving  variety  to  the  exercises,  Abel 
answered  the  questions  interrogatively.  It  was  music  to 
hear  him  spell  words  of  eight  syllables,  and  then  in  a  rising 
and  pathetic  tone  sing  out  Unintelligibility?  Incomprehensi 
bility?  He  could  be  heard  far  and  wide.  Allen  was  at  the 
pit,  where,  besides  superintending  his  carcasses,  he  had  been 
wondering  what  his  sister  Karline  could  see  in  such  a  man 
as  Bill  Williams  to  like  him.  When  he  heard  Abel's 
screams  he  was  in  the  act  of  turning  over  a  pig.  He  raised 
himself  up,  and  looking  toward  the  stage,  he  asked  of  a 
bystander : 

"Who  in  the  name  of  Jee-roozelum  is  that?  " 

"  Don't  you  know  who  that  is,  Allen  ?  " 


OLD    FRIENDS   AND   NEW. 


197 


Allen  looked  fixedly  at  the  speller. 

"  No,  dinged  if  I  do!      I  never  seed  him  befo'." 

"Why,  it's  Abel  Kitchens." 

"Who?" 

"Abel  Kitchens." 

Without  saying  more,  he  advanced  several  steps  toward 
the  house,  and  listened  with  unmixed  delight  until  Abel 
had  spelled  himself  out  of  breath.  He  then  turned  and 
remarked : 

"  I  never  should  a  knowed  him  with  them  clo'es  if  you 
hadn't  a  told  me.  And  if  I  hadn't  a  seed  it  myself,  I 
never  should  a  b'lieved  he  could  a  spelt  them  words  in  that 
kind  o'  style." 

Abel  did  as  well  in  geography,  with  the  exception  of  one 
temporary  mistake.  When  asked  by  whom  Pennsylvania 
was  settled,  he  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  answered : 

"  By  the  English — ah — Earthquakes?  " 

The  audience  seemed  a  little  uneasy.  Overton  glanced 
at  Lucy,  who  had  her  handkerchief  to  her  mouth,  while  her 
eyes  were  suffused  with  tears  of  laughter ;  so  he  bit  his  lips 
and  coughed  slightly.  Mandy  Grizzle,  who  was  Abel's 
classmate,  turned  and  looked  upon  him  with  horror.  Abel 
grinned,  frowned,  and  catching  at  his  coat-tails  with  his 
hands,  and  rocking  himself  right  and  left  for  a  moment, 
answered  rightly  in  the  same  tone : 

"  By  the  English  Quakers?  " 

Afterward  Abel  shut  up  Asa  Boatright,  who  was  laugh 
ing  at  his  mistake,  by  insisting  that  there  weren't  no  sich  a 
mighty  difference  between  'em,  anyhow,  and  asking  Asa  if 
he  knowed  what  that  was. 

Bill  Jones  was  the  leader  in  geography.  He  was  heard 
to  boast  that  you  give  him  a  plenty  of  money,  and  insure 
his  not  getting  drowned  nor  murdered  nor  eat  up  by  wild 
beasts  and  other  animals,  he  could  find  his  way  plump  into 


I98  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

the  middle  of  Africa.  It  wasn't  worth  while  to  try  to  lose 
Bill  Jones  anywhere  on  the  top  of  the  ground. 

During  the  examination  of  the  classes  the  audience,  with 
few  exceptions,  kept  their  seats.  Toward  the  last  the 
smell  of  the  barbecue  was  becoming  very  sweet,  and  one 
could  notice  occasionally  a  nose  turned  toward  the  pit, 
and  a  pair  of  lips  giving  a  subdued  smack.  There  re 
mained  only  the  speaking,  and  the  schoolmaster  announced 
that  it  would  be  postponed  until  after  the  dinner,  to  which 
all  were  cordially  invited.  So  they  arose.  And  oh,  what 
congratulations!  Especially  to  the  girls,  for  they  were 
through  with  their  work,  and  it  was  a  safe  business.  Now 
that  the  excitement  was  over  they  did  look  exhausted,  and 
yet  so  calm,  so  serenely  triumphant!  Mely  Jones  espe 
cially  had  done  so  much,  had  answered  so  many  questions, 
and  been  put  through  such  a  searching  course,  that  she 
seemed  to  feel  that  no  reasonable  person  could  expect  her 
to  recover  herself  in  some  time.  After  the  rest  had  risen 
she  sat  with  her  head  resting  upon  her  mother's  shoulder, 
her  long  hair  hanging  down  at  full  length,  and  her  pretty 
face  and  languid  eyes  indicating  that  though  she  had  con 
quered,  yet  that  such  a  victory  was  more  expensive  than 
most  people  were  aware  of.  Oh,  you  Mely! 

The  dinner  was  capital ;  pig,  lamb,  kid,  chicken,  goose,  all 
sorts  of  vegetables,  pies,  tarts,  custards.  Allen  got  enough 
compliments  for  the  barbecue  to  make  anybody  else  very 
vain.  But  Allen  merely  remarked  that  he  should  not 
have  undertook  it  if  he  hadn't  knowed  what  he  was  about. 
Give  him  the  right  sort  of  carcasses,  good  oak-bark,  and  a 
plenty  of  pepper,  vinegar,  and  salt,  and  he  would  be  mon- 
stous  apt  to  have  it  right;  that  is,  providin'  the  people 
didn't  git  hungry  too  soon  and  begin  to  hurry  him  up. 

Mr.  Bill  was  very  gay.  Notwithstanding  that  he  had  to 
serve  two  ladies  at  the  table,  he  did  not  part  from  his  riding- 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW. 


199 


whip ;  with  singular  dexterity  he  fastened  it  under  his  left 
arm,  and  as  he  turned  here  and  there  the  silk  cracker 
played  all  sorts  of  tricks,  occasionally  tickling  Miss  Aery's 
nose  to  such  a  degree  that  she  would  laugh  and  chide  him 
so  sweetly  that  it  would  soon  be  tickling  her  again.  Miss 
Karline  looked  uncommonly  well  to-day.  Betsy  Ann 
called  Mr.  Bill's  attention  to  the  fact,  and  with  great  gen 
erosity  gave  it  as  her  opinion  that  she  was  the  finest  girl  in 
all  her  acquaintance.  Mr.  Bill  smiled  and  said  nothing  in 
answer  to  such  remarks,  yet  he  thought  to  himself  that  he 
had  never  seen  Miss  Karline  look  so  well. 

He  congratulated  everybody  who  had  any  special  in 
terest  in  the  examination.  Who  knowed  but  that  some  of 
them  boys,  providin',  in  cose,  they  lived  and  kept  goin' 
in  the  same  in  which  they  was  a-startin',  mout  live  to  be 
big  men  in  Dukesborough  or  some  other  big  place.  Who 
knowed? 

Lucy  went  about  from  one  to  another  of  the  elderly 
ladies  and  helped  them  from  the  various  dishes.  What 
little  distinctions  of  honor  were  made,  were  in  favor  of  the 
mothers  of  the  children.  The  pupils  were  the  main  attend 
ants,  and  boys  and  girls  were  liberal  to  a  degree  that 
approached  prodigality.  Abel's  attentions  were  confined 
mostly  to  his  mother.  He  piled  the  good  things  upon  her 
plate  so  that  she  had  to  stop  him  and  inquire  if  he  expected 
her  to  eat  everything  on  the  table,  and  all  at  once  at  that. 
But  Abel  had  an  object :  he  wanted  to  practice  his  speech 
one  more  time.  So,  having  served  his  mother,  he  gathered 
in  his  hands  a  big  piece  of  pie,  and,  eating  rapidly  as  he 
went,  rushed  into  the  woods,  and  in  quite  an  elevated  tone 
put  a  number  of  interrogatories  to  a  certain  red-oak  tree  to 
which  he  resorted. 

The  dinner  being  over,  the  ladies  repaired  to  the  arbor 
again,  and  the  men  stood  without  in  knots  of  eight  or  ten, 


200  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

and  discussed  the  weather  and  their  crops.  Every  one  in 
sisted  that  he  had  received  less  rain  than  any  of  his  neigh 
bors.  Whenever  a  rain  was  proven  upon  one,  he  insisted 
either  that  it  was  not  enough  to  wet  a  pocket-handker 
chief,  or  that  it  was  so  much  as  to  set  out  the  grass  again 
that  had  just  been  chopped,  and  that  it  fell  so  hard  as  to 
wash  his  plantation  clean  away  besides.  I  have  often  no 
ticed  during  all  my  life  that  one  of  the  most  difficult  things 
has  been  to  make  a  farmer  admit  that  he  had  had  a  season 
able  rain  upon  his  crop. 

But  the  bell  was  rung  in  the  midst  of  such  disputes,  and 
all  repaired  at  once  to  the  arbor. 

Samuel  Pate! 

Mr.  Pate  was  not  by  nature  a  great  orator ;  but  art  and 
exercise  enabled  him  to  show  off  to  considerable  advantage. 
Hearty  applause  followed,  for  several  of*  the  boys  had 
hinted  that  a  little  of  that  would  have  an  encouraging 
effect.  A  yet  greater  share  fell  to  Mr.  Boatright,  who  fol 
lowed.  Mr.  Jones  had  expected  to  carry  everything  before 
him,  or  at  least  lead  it  very  closely  up  behind  him.  Sink 
ing  or  swimming,  living  or  dying,  surviving  or  perishing,  he 
was  for  the  Declaration ;  and  he  looked  as  if  he  meant 
what  he  said.  There  was  not  a  man  there  who  felt  like 
controverting  his  position  when,  in  conclusion,  he  an 
nounced  in  thundering  tones,  "  In-derpendence  now,  and 
In-derpendence  forever!"  Jack  Parkinson  did  the  poetry. 
It  sounded  very  genteel;  but  there  was  not  much  room 
for  spreading,  as  Bill  called  it. 

But  Abel!  That  was  the  speech  that  stirred  the  crowd 
and  made  everybody,  as  it  were,  feel  like  changing  seats. 
His  piece  was  a  famous  one  in  the  old  books,  yet  familiar 
to  us  all.  Abel  adhered  to  the  interrogative  manner  which 
his  teacher  had  labored  in  vain  to  correct.  He  inquired  of 
the  gentlemen  and  ladies  present  if  they  were  not  Ameri- 


OLD    FRIENDS   AND   NEW.  2OI 

cans,  and  if  they  did  not  have  a  country  vast  in  extent,  and 
embracing  all  the  varieties  of  the  most  salubrious  climes. 
He  went  on  further  to  ask  if  they  were  held  not  by  charters, 
and  propounded  various  interrogatories  of  that  sort.  His 
little  voice  screamed  in  a  way  which  it  was  a  wonder  to 
hear.  His  gesticulation  was  equally  remarkable.  Occa 
sionally  he  would  rise  on  tiptoe  and  stretch  out  both  arms ; 
then  his  coat-tails  would  expand  themselves  and  almost 
become  separated  in  his  rear.  His  shoes,  however,  re 
mained  wholly  unexcited,  refusing  to  follow  his  heels,  but 
waiting  patiently  for  their  return.  When  he  had  asked 
questions  enough  to  have  taken  the  most  of  his  audience 
weeks  and  weeks  to  answer,  he  retired,  and  blowed  and 
perspired  as  if  he  had  been  running  a  mile.  The  surprise 
and  pleasure  that  he  had  been  inspiring  all  day  came  now 
to  a  climax.  Everybody  clapped  their  hands  and  rapped 
the  benches  and  laughed  with  glee.  Allen  Thigpen,  who  had 
been  standing  at  the  outskirts,  beat  with  a  big  stick  one  of 
the  posts  with  such  violence  as  to  shake  the  whole  arbor. 
Allen  afterward  passed  his  word  and  honor  that  never  in 
all  his  born  days  had  he  ever  heerd  anything  so  onexpected. 

"  Becase,  you  see,"  said  he,  "  I  knowed  him  at  the  Goose- 
pond.  By  the  time  he  quit  thar  he  didn't  'pear  like  he 
have  any  more  sense  than  a  biled  egg.  But  to-day !  Why, 
it  come  on  me  to  such  a  pitch  as  farly  made  the  goose- 
bumps  rise  all  over  me.  That  spellin'  this  mornin'  first 
started  me  to  thinkin' ;  but  the  speakin',  it  finished  me. 
When  he  said  '  Hell  not  by  chotters,'  dinged  if  I  didn't 
think  he  was  a-cussin' ! " 

The  exercises  were  closed  by  Brinkly  Glisson.  His 
speech  was  one  that  had  been  composed  by  Overton  for 
the  occasion.  Not  loud  and  violent  like  Abel  and  some 
of  the  rest,  he  spoke  easily,  naturally,  and  to  the  point. 
Everybody  listened  eagerly  as  he  declaimed  on  the  value  of 


202  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

education,  and  the  greater  value  of  honor,  and  truth,  and 
courage.  Warming  more  and  more  as  he  proceeded,  he 
made  really  a  fine  ending.  His  mother  had  been  filling  up 
all  day.  She  ate  almost  nothing  at  dinner,  telling  Lucy, 
who  pressed  many  nice  things  upon  her,  that  she  could 
not  eat  until  Brinkly  got  through.  While  he  was  speaking 
she  did  not  look  at  him  except  by  stolen  glances,  fearing 
that  she  might  put  him  out.  When  he  had  finished,  and 
the  whole  air  was  rent,  and  the  woods  resounded  with  ap 
plause,  as  well  for  Brinkly  as  in  general  commendation  of 
the  whole  exercises,  her  mother's  heart  could  repress  its 
emotion'  no  longer,  and  she  wept  those  tears  of  joy  and 
pride  that  are  so  sweet  to  the  lowly.  The  neighbors  con 
gratulated  her,  but  she  could  weep  only  the  more.  Allen 
squeezed  her  hand  the  hardest  of  all,  and  he  cried  like  a 
child  when  she  hugged  him. 

"Ding  it  all!"  said  Allen,  but  he  blubbered  so  that  he 
couldn't  make  it  out,  and  so,  breaking  off  from  the  widow, 
he  hugged  Brinkly,  and  wept  on  his  neck.  "  I  knowed  it 
was  in  you,"  he  said,  as  the  tears  ran  from  his  eyes,  "  if — 
if  it  only  could  be  fotch  out." 

As  soon  as  the  audience  arose  to  disperse,  the  widow 
went  to  Overton  and  humbly  took  his  hand. 

"  It  is  you  who  done  it  all.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  you  the 
child  might  have  been  ruined.  Oh,  the  goodness  of  the 
Lord  that  brought  from  so  far  away  off  yonder  such  a 
friend  to  me  and  my  child ! " 

This  was  all  she  could  say :  a  poor  little  speech ;  and 
even  in  that  her  greatest  thanks  were  carried  beyond  him 
self.  Yet,  though  he  lived  to  make  a  high  career,  and  to 
receive  much  of  eloquent  praise,  it  never  imparted  a  pleasure 
superior  to  that  he  felt  as  that  poor  woman  held  his  hand, 
and  he  knew  what  she  felt  but  could  not  express. 

Although  there  was  to  be  but  a  couple  of  weeks'  holiday, 


OLD   FRIENDS  AND  NEW. 


203 


yet  the  pupils  took  most  affectionate  leave  of  their  teacher, 
and  not  one  failed  to  look  with  pleasure  to  the  reunion. 
While  Brinkly  went  for  his  mother's  horse,  she  asked  Lucy 
in  a  low  tone : 

"Ain't  he  glorious?" 
"Who?     Brinkly?     Yes,  that  he  is." 
"  Oh,  you  know  who  I  mean :   that  man  yonder." 
"  Mr.  Overton?     Yes,  he'll  do  pretty  well." 
"  And  now,  honey,  you  listen  to  me.     Don't  you  let  that 
chance  slip.     Don't  you." 

As  Lucy,  held  the  stirrup  for  her,  after  Brinkly  had  set 
her  upon  the  horse,  she  bent  down  and  whispered  in  her 
ear: 

"  Him  and  you  was  made  for  one  another." 
The  girl  pretended  not  to  hear,  and  the  widow,  followed 
by  her  son  on  foot,  rode  away. 

The  last  to  leave  were  Mr.  Bill  and  his  party.  They  had 
to  wait  for  Allen,  who  lingered  in  order  to  see  that  all  the 
dinner-vessels  were  sent  to  their  owners.  On  the  way 
home  Mr.  Bill,  as  long  as  they  all  rode  together,  made 
sundry  comments  upon  the  exercises.  They  were  for  the 
most  part  commendatory ;  yit  Mr.  Cordy's  school  in 
Dukesborough  were  certainly  ahead  of  Chestnut  Grove. 
Ef  Mr.  Overton  should  live  and  keep  at  it  awhile  longer, 
he  mout  some  time  move  into  Dukesborough  and  keep 
school  thar,  arfter  Mr.  Cordy  give  up ;  in  cose  he  had 
never  heard  of  Mr.  Cordy's  givin'  up,  but  he  did  know  that 
somehow  schoolmarsters,  as  a  giner'l  thing,  were  a.movin' 
kind  o'  people,  and  never  stayed  long  in  one  partickler  place, 
and  that  made  him  say  what  he  did.  But  still,  it  weren't 
no  business  of  hisn,  and  he  merrily  made  the  remark  be- 
case,  from  all  he  could  see,  he  thought  well  of  the  young 
man  and  hoped  that  he  would  do  well. 

Allen  and  Betsy  Ann  fell  back  a  little,  and  Mr.  Bill  and 


204 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


Miss  Karline  rode  on  together.  Mr.  Bill  was  much  flattered 
by  Miss  Karline's  regard,  as  well  he  might  be.  Whenever 
he  found  himself  alone  with  her  of  late  he  felt  that  he  would 
do  reasonably  well  to  get  her,  and  it  was  only  the  increased 
graciousness  of  Betsy  Ann  that  hitherto  had  prevented  his 
addressing  the  former.  Betsy  Ann's  remark  at  the  exami 
nation  had  the  double  effect  of  stimulating  his  feelings  to 
ward  Miss  Karline,  and  of  raising  the  suspicion  that  she 
herself  did  not  mean  that  her  own  deportment  toward  him 
should  be  considered  in  the  light  in  which  he  had  been  re 
garding  it.  So,  as  he  rode  along,  he  was  decidedly  more 
demonstrative  to  Miss  Karline  than  he  had  yet  been.  He 
delivered  his  mother's  thanks  for  the  counterpane,  and  told 
how  anxious  she  was  that  he  should  settle  himself. 

"  And,  indeed,  it  look  like  a  man  of  my  age  ought  to 
settle  hisself ;  but  sich  it  is,  a  man  can't  settle  hisself  by 
hisself." 

How  archly  and  mischievously  he  did  look  at  Miss  Kar 
line! 

"Ahem!  of  course  not,"  said  Miss  Karline.  "Still,  I 
don't  know  so  well  about  that.  Of  course  it's  not  for  me 
to  speak." 

Mr.  Bill  insisted  that  he  believed  his  mother  was  right,  and 
that  he  ought  to  leave  off  the  vanities  of  a  vain  and  fool 
ish  world ;  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  a  man  wasn't  going,  and 
wasn't  expected  to  be  going,  to  do  that  excepting  he  was  to 
git  married  and  have  a  wife  to  help  him,  and  he  declared 
that  he  would  like  to  have  Miss  Karline's  opinions  upon 
the  subject. 

Miss  Karline  answered  that  if  he  wanted  her  opinions 
certain  and  in  earnest,  and  if  he  needed  her  opinions,  of 
course  he  should  have  them. 

Now  Bill  said  that  he  did  want  'em,  and  felt  like  in  all 
the  circumstances  he  stood  in  need  of  'em. 


OLD   FRIENDS  AND   NEW. 


205 


Then  Miss  Karline  said  that  as  for  herself,  provided  she 
knew  herself,  she  desired  to  fool  no  person,  nor  to  trifle  with 
no  person's  feelings,  nor  to  keep  people  a- waiting  for  answers 
to  polite  and  gentlemany  questions.  Mr.  Williams  was  a 
person  whom  she  could  but  have  a  great  respect  for ;  and 
as  for  his  mother,  she  loved  her  almost  like  her  own  blessed 
mother  that  was  dead  and  gone.  As  Mr.  Williams  had 
asked  her  opinions  on  that  partickler  subject,  and  had  ever 
acted  in  such  a  gentlemany  way,  she  would  at  once  give  him 
her  answer.  She  always  had  liked  him,  but  never,  never 
in  this  blessed  world  should  he  have  knew  it  from  her  lips 
if  he  had  not  first  asked  her  opinions,  and  that  in  such  a 
gentlemany  way. 

They  were  now  near  the  house.  Mr.  Bill  smiled,  and 
looked  back  at  Allen  and  Betsy  Ann,  who  were  now  riding 
fast.  He  gave  his  whip  to  Miss  Karline,  who  gave  her  horse 
a  cut,  and  they  galloped  to  the  gate.  As  he  assisted  her  to 
dismount  he  took  the  liberty  to  squeeze  her  hand,  and,  as  he 
had  acted  in  such  a  gentlemany  way,  Miss  Karline  quietly 
but  firmly  returned  the  pressure. 

Allen  looked  at  them  closely  when  he  came  up.  His 
sister's  face  assured  him,  he  thought,  that  matters  were 
settled,  and  he  therefore  treated  Mr.  Bill  with  increased 
cordiality.  Mr.  Bill  was  obliged  to  go  on  to  Dukesborough 
that  evening.  When  he  was  about  to  start,  all  shook  hands 
with  him,  and  Betsy  Ann  said  that  she  was  always  glad  to 
see  him.  He  opened  his  eyes  a  little  at  this  remark,  but 
only  said  good-bye,  and  then  took  his  leave. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

THE  vacation  was  spent  by  George  Overton  at  Chestnut 
Grove.     He  needed  no  further  recreation  than  what  would 


206  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

be  afforded  by  the  more  constant  association  of  Lucy 
Parkinson.  The  lessons  to  her  were  not  discontinued. 
The  new  term  opened  with  an  increased  number  of  pupils, 
and  everything  went  on  as  usual.  It  was  now  near  Octo 
ber,  in  which  month  he  was  to  be  admitted  to  the  bar,  and 
would  then  give  up  the  school. 

Thus  far  no  word  of  avowed  love  had  been  spoken. 
The  young  man  had  a  long-continued  struggle  between  in 
clination  and  a  sense  of  duty.  An  inmate  in  Mr.  Parkin 
son's  family,  intrusted  with  the  education  of  his  son,  and, 
to  some  extent,  with  that  of  his  daughter,  the  very  facilities 
which  he  had  for  engaging  her  affections  prompted  him  the 
more  to  feel  as  if  he  ought  to  abstain  from  any  positive 
avowal  until  he  should  be  ready  to  go  away.  He  believed 
that  both  her  parents  had  noticed  his  attachment,  and  he 
hoped  that  the  mother  would  favor  the  suit ;  he  feared  that 
the  father  would  oppose  it.  The  former  had  grown  more  and 
more  cordial  from  the  beginning ;  the  latter  was  simply  not 
less  so,  and  his  general  deportment  had  been  such  that 
Overton  felt  as  if  he  regarded  their  connection  as  a  mere 
matter  of  business,  and  that  when  it  should  be  ended  he 
would  be  ready  to  form  a  similar  arrangement  with  some 
body  else.  If  Overton  had  been  a  man  to  calculate  upon 
other  influences  in  his  intended  suit  besides  his  own  per 
sonal  character  and  exertions,  he  would  have  set  some  value 
upon  the  regard  which  Jack  had  for  him,  a  regard  which 
had  grown  into  a  most  ardent  affection. 

When  he  first  was  aware  of  a  growing  attachment  to 
Lucy,  he  had  resolved,  even  if  he  should  ever  come  to  sus 
pect  that  his  passion  was  reciprocated,  to  abstain  from  all 
mention  of  it  while  he  should  remain  in  the  family,  and, 
indeed,  to  abstain  from  proposing  marriage  until  he  should 
become  established  in  his  profession  and  be  able  to  main 
tain  himself  well.  Although  his  father's  estate  had  not  been 


OLD    FRIENDS   AND   NEW. 


207 


yet  settled,  he  looked  for  no  means  from  that  quarter,  and 
expected  that  the  law  would  be  his  only  dependence  for  a 
living. 

He  thought  he  had  been  keeping  his  resolution.  How 
prone  is  youth  to  persuade  itself  that  it  faithfully  pays  its 
vows,  when  sometimes,  unconsciously  to  itself,  it  can  but 
keep  back  a  part!  In  all  this  time  he  had  never  said  he 
loved ;  yet  how  many  times,  when  alone  with  her,  it  was 
hard  for  him  not  to  tell  her  all  he  felt.  Many  times  he 
would  look  upon  her  and  his  voice  would  take  on  a  trem 
bling  and  tenderness  which  were  quite  as  expressive  as  any 
words  would  have  been.  Though  no  expressions  of  love 
had  been  spoken,  each  knew  what  the  other  felt. 

The  term  was  near  its  end,  and  seemed  this  time  to  be 
destined  to  close  as  happily  as  before,  with  the  exception 
only  that  the  teacher  so  well  loved  was  about  to  leave  for 
another  field  of  endeavor.  Jack  Parkinson  had  become  so 
fond  of  him  that,  whenever  the  subject  of  the  latter's 
leaving  was  mentioned,  his  eyes  would  fill  with  tears.  One 
day  he  went  to  his  mother  and  laid  his  head  in  her  lap,  and 
asked  her  why  it  was  that  Mr.  Overton  must  go  away. 
She  put  down  her  work  and  smoothed  and  stroked  his  yel 
low  hair,  and  they  talked  much  with  each  other  about  how 
kind  Mr.  Overton  had  been,  and  what  a  great  service  he 
had  rendered  Jack,  and  how  they  would  always  be  his 
friends,  and  many  such  things,  and  the  mother  shed  as  many 
tears  as  the  child.  The  next  day  Mr.  Parkinson  left  home 
for  a  visit  of  a  few  days  to  Augusta,  and  that  evening  when 
Jack  had  come  from  school  he  went  to  his  mother,  and, 
laying  his  head  in  her  lap  again,  told  her  that  he  did  not 
feel  well.  She  saw  that  he  had  some  fever,  and  she  led 
him  to  his  bed. 

I  can  never  think  without  sadness  of  those  seasons  of 
bilious  fever  consequent  upon  too  reckless  destruction  of 


2o8  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

forests.  The  country  physicians  of  those  days,  with  few  ex 
ceptions,  seemed  to  have  made  themselves  acquainted  with 
only  two  great  remedies :  blood-letting  and  calomel.  Our 
laws  then  allowed  to  all  young  men,  however  unqualified 
either  by  general  culture  or  in  native  talents,  after  having 
read  through  a  few  books  of  medical  science  in  a  doctor's 
office,  to  appear  before  a  committee  of  physicians  in  Mil- 
ledgeville,  who,  after  a  nominal  examination,  might  give 
them  certificates  of  proficiency  and  licenses  to  distribute 
their  knowledge  among  the  sick  and  the  afflicted,  and,  in 
return  for  such  distribution,  to  charge,  and  when  disputed 
either  by  the  patients  themselves  or  their  representatives 
after  they  were  dead,  to  sue  for  and  collect  their  fees  and 
rewards.  The  qualifications  mainly  requisite  for  passing 
before  the  committee  were  the  facile  use  of  the  lancet,  the 
determination  to  refuse  cold  water  to  those  who  were  sick 
with  fever,  and  to  give  calomel  in  unlimited  quantities. 

It  has  always  been  a  matter  of  wonder  with  me  why 
many  more  persons  were  not  killed  by  that  old  method  of 
treatment.  But  I  remember  that  men  were  stouter  and 
stronger  then  than  now;  they  lived  more  simply,  and 
worked  and  exercised  more  heartily.  Then  I  have  known 
of  those  who  cheated  physicians  and  got  well  in  spite  of 
them,  and  in  ways  unknown  to  them. 

I  knew  of  two  young  men,  brothers,  great,  robust,  brave, 
hard-working  fellows.  They  were  both  sick  of  bilious  fever. 
From  the  first  day  they  grew  worse,  and  the  fever  racked 
them  sore.  Consumed  with  thirst,  they  begged  for  water,  and 
a  little  must  be  given  to  them  while  they  had  strength.  But 
on  the  sixth  day  they  were  so  weak  that  it  was  considered  safe 
to  deny  them  altogether.  They  lay  in  the  same  room,  and  the 
water-pail  was  at  the  door.  Oh,  how  they  had  begged  that 
day  for  water,  and,  when  constantly  refused,  how  they  had 
watched  the  water-pail!  Their  attendant  left  the  room  in 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW. 


209 


which  they  were  lying  for  a  few  minutes.  No  sooner  was 
she  gone  than,  exerting  their  utmost  strength,  they  crawled 
from  their  beds  to  the  pail,  and  the  stronger  first  assisted 
his  brother  to  drink,  and  he  drank  to  his  fill ;  then,  as  the 
other  was  about  to  do  the  same,  the  attendant,  returning, 
gave  a  scream,  and,  rushing  to  him,  carried  him  back. 
Two  days  afterward  he  died,  and  the  other  was  convales 
cent.  When  he  got  well  he  swore  a  great  oath  that  he 
would  never  again  take  medicine  from  a  doctor ;  and  he 
kept  his  word. 

Ah  me !  what  survivor  of  those  times  remembers  them 
well,  remembers  the  long,  weary  days  when,  hot  and 
thirsty,  he  saw  the  well-bucket  with  newly  drawn  water  set 
out  in  the  sun,  from  which,  when  it  had  lost  its  coolness,  he 
was  permitted  (with  what  a  show  of  kindness  in  the  midst 
of  anxious  remonstrance ! )  to  moisten  with  a  spoonful  his 
parched  tongue  and  lips. 

The  long,  weary  nights,  longer  and  wearier  than  the 
days,  because,  in  their  deep,  solemn  stillness  there  was  but 
a  mockery  of  the  rest  for  which  he  longed. 

When  sometimes  dreams  would  come  over  him — those 
strange  dreams  that  bring  to  the  unhappy  the  things  they 
most  desire  ;  and  they  would  lift  him  from  his  couch  of  fire 
and  bear  him  away  to  a  well-known  spring  of  water,  cold 
and  crystal,  and  he  would  see  it  bursting  out  from  the  hill 
side,  and  hear  it  and  feel  it  gurgling  in  his  throat. 

Then  when  he  would  awake  and  feel — oh,  what  anguish 
he  would  feel  when  he  would  awake  and  find  them  dreams ! 

And  he,  fortunate  survivor,  has  he  not  seen  others  suffer 
worse  things  than  these?  Yes,  many  times  has  he  watched 
when,  after  long,  weary  days  and  nights,  with  their  alterna 
tions  of  painful  realities  and  blissful  dreams,  when  the  sick 
man's  body  was  fast  yielding  to  the  ravages  of  fever,  and 
the  mind,  partaking  of  its  weakness,  was  growing  unsteady, 


2io  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

he  would  beg  in  childish  and  piteous  tones  for  water,  for 
water ! 

When  at  last  all  hope  of  life  was  past,  and  the  physician, 
good  man,  now  thought  it  could  do  no  harm,  and  the  rag- 
mop  dipped  in  water  was  inserted  into  his  mouth,  he  would 
champ  it  and  champ  it  with  feeble  eagerness,  till  death 
came  at  last,  and  cooled  the  fever  and  ended  or  fulfilled 
the  dreams! 

When  he  remembers  these,  let  him  thank  God  that  this 
one  cruel  folly  is  passed  away ;  that  though  he  may  yet  see 
death,  and  must  suffer  it,  he  may  not  see  it  nor  suffer  it 
amid  scenes  like  these. 

When  Dr.  Wilson  first  saw  Jack  he  pronounced  the  case 
difficult,  and  a  neighbor  was  dispatched  to  Augusta  to 
hasten  Mr.  Parkinson's  return.  Dr.  Wilson  was  consider 
ably  in  advance  of  the  country  physicians  of  the  times. 
Carefully  and  tenderly  he  attended  the  case,  and  watched 
with  unceasing  anxiety  the  development  of  the  disease. 
Yet,  conservative  and  cautious,  he  administered  medicine 
in  quantities  which,  while  it  would  have  been  considered  by 
his  contemporaries  as  too  insignificant  to  be  capable  of  pro 
ducing  any  effect  good  or  evil,  would  be  regarded  with 
alarm  by  any  intelligent  physician  of  this  generation. 

Jack  lay  on  his  bed  and  made  no  complaint.  He  was 
neither  cheerful  nor  very  sad ;  he  was  only  silent  and 
thoughtful.  His  mother  was  intensely  anxious,  and  the 
more  so  on  account  of  the  absence  of  her  husband.  But 
she  would  try  to  rally  him  on  his  thoughtfulness,  and  would 
speak  cheerily  on  what  was  to  be  done  next  week  when 
he  should  be  well  again.  But  Jack  remained  silent  and 
thoughtful,  and  seemed  to  feel  little  interest  in  what  they 
were  going  to  do  for  him  next  week.  The  doctor  was 
distressed  every  morning  to  find  that  he  had  not  improved 
from  the  day  before.  Overton  was  devoted  to  him,  and 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW.  Gil 

Mrs.  Parkinson  and  Lucy  were  with  him  all  the  time.  On 
the  night  of  the  third  day  his  condition  appeared  to  be  im 
proved,  and  his  mother  at  midnight  retired  to  rest,  leaving 
Overton  and  Lucy  to  watch.  She  gave  him  her  blessing, 
congratulated  him  on  his  improvement,  and  said  she  knew 
— oh  yes,  she  knew  he  was  going  to  be  bright  in  the  morn 
ing,  when  father  would  be  at  home. 

And  Jack  did  rest  and  sleep  so  well  that  Overton,  on 
Lucy's  insisting  that  he  should  do  so,  retired  to  his  own 
chamber,  to  be  called  up  if  necessary.  Jack  slept  away. 
His  face  became  serene  and  happy.  Sweet  dreams  had 
come  to  him.  His  grandfather  and  grandmother  and  little 
Jane  had  visited  him  in  his  dreams.  He  thought  they 
took  him  by  the  hand  and  were  leading  him  along,  point 
ing  to  prospects  which,  though  he  could  not  plainly  see  them, 
were  exceeding  beautiful.  They  did  not  speak,  but  they 
led  him  along  into  sights  which  may  not  be  written  or  told. 

Then  he  awoke  and  looked  strangely  at  his  sister. 

"  How  well  you  have  slept,  dear! " 

"  Have  I  not  been  away?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  you  have  been  sleeping,  and  you  are  so  much 
better." 

Jack  sighed,  and  said  he  wanted  to  see  his  mother.  But 
his  mother  had  already  heard  him  and  was  in  the  room. 
She  felt  his  brow,  and  talked  as  such  mothers  know  how 
to  talk  to  their  sick  children.  Then  he  told  her  whom  he 
had  seen  and  what  they  had  done  to  him.  How  he  did 
talk!  He  talked  of  many  things,  and  at  last  of  his  teacher. 
He  told  his  mother  that  none  of  them  knew  how  kind  Mr. 
Overton  had  been  to  him,  nor  how  much  he  was  loved  by 
him.  He  said,  and  with  great  earnestness,  that  he  wanted 
him  never  to  go  away,  never  to  leave  his  father  and  his 
mother  and  his  sister.  He  knew,  he  said,  that  Mr.  Over- 
ton  did  not  desire  to  go  away ;  for  he  had  asked  him,  and 


212  DUKESBO ROUGH  TALES. 

he  had  answered  that  he  would  rather  live  there  than  any 
where  else  in  the  whole  world. 

Lucy  leaned  her  head  upon  the  bed. 

Overton,  overhearing  the  continued  talking,  came  down 
stairs  into  the  room  and  approached  softly.  As  the  boy  con 
tinued  to  talk  Mrs.  Parkinson  looked  up  toward  him.  The 
tears  were  running  down  her  cheeks,  and  she  looked  from 
him  to  Lucy.  Then  Overton  went  to  Lucy  and  took  her 
hand,  and  lifted  her  up.  She  arose,  trembling  through  her 
whole  frame. 

"  Let  it  be  so,"  he  said — "  in  God's  name  let  it  be  so ! 
Only  He  knows  how  much  I  desire  it." 

Lucy  looked  at  Jack  and  saw  how  he  was  smiling.  Then 
she  laid  her  head  upon  Overton's  shoulder,  and  he,  putting 
his  arms  around  her,  drew  her  to  his  breast.  He  led  her 
around  to  the  other  side  where  Mrs.  Parkinson  was  sit 
ting,  and  they  knelt  down  by  the  bed,  and  Jack  called  him 
his  brother,  and  the  mother  called  him  her  son,  and  then 
all  but  Jack  wept  afresh. 

The  next  morning  the  sun  rose  brightly,  and  Jack  looked 
out  upon  it  with  a  smile ;  but  they  saw  that  his  face  was 
more  pale  than  yesterday.  Mr.  Parkinson  returned  shortly 
afterward,  having  ridden  all  night.  He  was  terrified  be 
yond  expression  by  his  son's  condition. 

The  day  wore  away,  and  night  again  came  on.  In  the 
early  part  of  it  Jack  lay  with  his  eyes  closed,  his  hands 
folded  upon  his  breast,  and  his  lips  occasionally  murmured 
a  text  of  the  Holy  Scriptures.  Midnight  was  passed. 
Jack  asked  for  a  chapter  to  be  read  to  him,  the  fourteenth 
of  St.  John.  Nobody  could  do  it  except  Overton.  Mr. 
Parkinson  had  not  been  able  to  remain  in  the  room  since 
his  return  but  for  a  few  minutes  at  a  time  ;  Mrs.  Parkinson 
and  Lucy  had  no  voice  for  reading.  So  Overton  read  the 
riapter. 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW. 


213 


Just  then  his  father  came  in.  Jack  made  signs  to  him 
and  Overton  to  approach  him.  When  they  did  so,  he 
joined  their  hands. 

"  That  will  do,"  he  said. 

He  then  gave  his  hand  to  his  mother  and  bade  her  hold 
it.  As  the  sun  rose,  he  smiled  once  more,  and  whispered : 

"  Even  so — come — Lord — Jesus." 

"Amen!"  said  Overton,  closing  his  eyes. 

The  neighbors  were  assembled  to  the  funeral.  The 
rooms  not  being  capacious  enough  to  contain  them  all,  they 
were  seated  upon  the  piazza,  and  upon  benches  on  the 
ground  before  the  door.  The  body  had  been  removed  into 
the  hall,  and  the  preacher  stood  in  the  door. 

Mr.  Sanford  was  an  old  man  whose  life  from  early 
manhood  had  been  spent  in  the  Christian  ministry.  He 
was  not  deeply  learned  in  the  schools ;  but  a  long  habit  of 
public  speaking,  added  to  a  blameless  life  spent  in  the  study 
of  the  Scriptures,  and  in  teaching  and  practicing  their  pre 
cepts,  had  conspired  to  make  him  a  useful,  and  at  times  an 
eloquent,  preacher.  He  was  tall  and  thin  and  pale,  and 
his  hair  was  long  and  almost  wholly  white.  He  was  uni 
versally  revered,  and  was  especially  dear  to  this  family. 
He  had  always  loved  Jack  with  peculiar  affection.  Before 
he  rose  he  had  been  leaning  his  head  upon  his  hands  rest 
ing  on  the  little  table  before  him,  and  they  saw  that  he 
had  been  weeping,  for  he  had  just  spent  an  hour  alone 
with  Mrs.  Parkinson. 

He  began  with  general  observations  upon  the  shortness 
of  life  and  the  insufficiency  of  human  affairs  to  satisfy  our 
best  desires.  Heathen  nations,  especially  those  that  had 
been  enlightened,  were  accustomed  to  have  as  serious  and 
just  reflections  upon  this  subject  as  we.  Like  us,  they  be 
lieved  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  and  the  necessity  of 
making  preparation  for  a  higher  life  by  a  purgation  from 


214  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

earthly  impurities.  But  at  the  coming  of  the  Messiah 
old  things  were  to  pass  away,  and  all  things  were  to 
become  new.  Jesus  Christ,  the  Righteous,  born  in  the 
flesh,  after  living  a  life  of  poverty,  and  enduring  all  the 
ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to,  even  the  temptations  to  the  com 
mission  of  sin,  at  last  suffered  death  in  the  most  painful 
and  disgraceful  of  all  forms  known  to  the  cruel  and  re 
morseless.  And  then  His  followers,  first  chosen  from  among 
the  simple,  were  slow  to  understand  the  fullness  of  that  mis 
sion.  Not  able  to  see  beyond  the  veil,  they  mourned  for 
their  departed  Friend,  whom  in  His  last  extremity  they  had 
been  driven  in  terror  to  desert.  Full  of  pious  grief,  the 
women,  on  the  first  day  of  the  week,  after  having  rested 
the  Sabbath,  according  to  the  commandment,  repaired  to 
the  grave  with  the  spices  which  they  had  prepared. 

"And  they  entered  in,  and  found  not  the  body  of  Jesus. 

"And  it  came  to  pass,  as  they  were  much  perplexed  there 
about,  behold  two  men  stood  by  them  in  shining  garments. 

"And  as  they  were  afraid  and  bowed  down  their  faces 
to  the  earth,  they  said  unto  them,  Why  seek  ye  the  living 
among  the  dead? 

"  He  is  not  here,  but  is  risen.  Remember  what  He  spake 
unto  you  when  He  was  yet  in  Galilee, 

"Saying,  the  Son  of  Man  must  be  delivered  into  the 
hands  of  sinful  men,  and  be  crucified,  and  the  third  day 
rise  again. 

"And  they  remembered  His  words." 

The  preacher  dwelt  at  some  length  upon  the  method  of 
salvation,  and  then  he  spoke  briefly  of  Jack ;  and  when  he 
did  no  eye  was  without  tears,  for  who  does  not  love  to 
hear  the  dead  praised,  especially  the  early  dead? 

"  And  now,"  he  said,  "  my  friends,  look  upon  the  body  of 
that  boy,  and  look  upon  me.  Does  it  seem  strange  to  you  that 
he  should  be  there,  while  I  am  standing  here? — I,  a  broken, 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW. 


215 


aged  man,  full  of  years  and  infirmities.  One  week  ago !  sup 
pose  you  had  been  compelled  to  choose  between  him  and  me 
for  the  chances  of  life — him,  the  young  plant,  strong,  bloom 
ing  in  beauty,  with  the  full  promise  of  goodly  fruit ;  me,  the 
old  and  withered  tree,  its  blossoms  and  leaves  fallen  to  re 
turn  no  more,  and  the  time  of  its  poor  fruiting  so  long  past 
as  to  be  forgotten.  It  seems  strange  to  you ;  it  seems  strange 
to  me.  Old  as  I  am,  having  felt  such  afflictions  as  this 
and  seen  them  so  often  fall  upon  others,  yet  the  deaths  of 
those  who  are  so  young  and  so  fair  as  that  boy  was  yet 
seem  strange  to  me,  until  I  remember  this  text  and  study 
the  lessons  it  teaches.  Strange  indeed  it  would  be  but  for 
the  assurance  of  resurrection  to  another  life,  compared  with 
which  this  one  passes  swifter  than  a  weaver's  shuttle.  We 
shall  soon  repair  to  the  grave  in  order  to  deposit  this  body 
from  which  the  beauty  and  the  life  have  departed ;  but  he 
will  not  be  there :  he  is  risen.  The  great  King  of  kings, 
in  making  up  His  jewels,  selects  from  all  conditions.  If 
we  cannot  refrain  from  weeping  that  one  so  young  and 
gifted  is  taken  from  among  us,  let  it  be  our  consolation 
that  he  was  ready  and  willing  to  depart." 

Then  he  raised  his  hands  and  eyes  toward  heaven,  and 
prayed  that  all  there,  every  one  in  his  appointed  time,  might 
die  the  death  of  the  righteous. 

The  old  man  sat  down  for  a  moment,  and  leaned  his 
head  upon  the  table  again.  After  a  few  moments  he  rose, 
went  to  the  body,  uncovered  the  face,  and  stood  at  the 
head  until  all  present  had  come,  as  was  the  custom,  and 
taken  their  last  look.  As  they  gazed  upon  the  marble  feat 
ures,  so  still  and  peaceful,  some  sighed,  while  others  smiled, 
but  all  were  weeping.  When  it  was  over,  "  It  is  better  to 
go  to  the  house  of  mourning  than  to  the  house  of  feasting," 
said  the  preacher,  as  he  covered  the  face  again. 

Well,  well,  I  do  not  know  why  I  have  dwelt  so  long  upon 


216  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

these  last-mentioned  scenes,  so  different  from  the  sportive 
ones  which  I  have  been  describing,  unless  it  is  because  those 
old-time  ceremonies  over  the  dead  seemed  always  to  me  so 
becoming,  and  because  in  these  latter  times  they  are  grow 
ing  into  disuse.  In  addition  to  the  pain  I  feel  at  the  death 
of  those  who  were  dear  to  me,  and  who  have  departed 
within  these  few  years  past,  I  am  always  the  sadder  to  see 
them  laid  away  with  no  other  words  than  the  form  which 
the  Church  has  prescribed  for  the  burial  of  all  the  dead. 
In  the  old  funeral  sermons  that  I  used  to  hear,  how  much 
there  was  of  comfort!  How  sweet  were  the  tears  that  ran 
down  as  the  beloved  were  praised  in  the  hour  of  their  de 
parture,  and  mourners,  with  their  friends  around  them,  felt 
as  if  they  could  almost  see  them  ascending  and  waving  back 
their  farewells!  The  practice  of  parting  from  the  dead  in 
silence,  and  refraining  afterward  from  the  mention  of  their 
names,  seems  so  strange  to  me,  so  sad.  But  perhaps  it  is 
the  best.  I  am  an  old  man,  and,  it  may  be,  cling  too 
fondly  to  the  memories  of  my  youth. 

The  events  just  described  took  place  within  a  day  or 
two  of  the  time  fixed  for  the  closing  of  the  school.  Over- 
ton  met  his  pupils  once  more,  but  only  to  take  leave  of 
them.  It  was  a  sad  day  for  them.  Jack  Parkinson  was 
dead,  and  their  teacher  was  to  leave  them.  Teacher  and 
pupils  shed  tears.  He  had  taught  them  not  books  only, 
but  things  outside  of  books,  and  better — to  love  honor,  to 
love  truth,  and  to  speak  it ;  to  be  brave.  Every  one  of 
them,  even  the  poorest  and  most  simple-minded,  had  been 
led  by  him  to  believe  that  he  could  do  something  for  which 
it  was  worth  while  to  strive. 

And  thus  ended  George  Overton's  career  as  a  teacher. 
It  was  made  quietly  and  on  a  little  field.  It  had  been  be 
gun  without  aim  or  expectation  of  doing  any  good  ;  yet  the 
seed  that  he  sowed  sprung  up  and  produced  its  harvest. 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW. 


217 


He  gave  an  impulse  to  education  that  raised  that  com 
munity  quite  above  the  average  of  the  country  society  of 
the  State.  Such  men  as  the  Meadowses  could  never  more 
find  employment  there,  and  they  soon  ceased  to  seek  it. 

A  few  days  after  Jack's  death,  Overton  formally  asked 
for  the  hand  of  Lucy.  He  did  this  the  sooner  because  he 
had  learned  that  the  settlement  of  his  father's  estate  had 
resulted  more  favorably  than  had  been  expected,  and  he 
could  realize  enough  from  it  to  enable  him  to  live  without 
other  income  for  several  years.  Consent  was  given  to  his 
suit  at  once  and  cordially,  and  the  marriage  was  appointed 
to  take  place  upon  his  return  from  Virginia,  whither  he  was 
to  go  in  order  to  have  a  settlement  with  his  father's  repre 
sentatives. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

"THAR  it  is  agin,  now!"  soliloquized  Mr.  Bill  Williams, 
as  soon  as  he  had  mounted  his  horse,  and  thought  of  Miss 
Aery's  remark  that  she  would  always  be  glad  to  see  him. 
That  was  an  unconsidered,  or,  at  least,  an  unfortunate 
speech.  Feeling  quite  safe  in  the  matter  of  Miss  Karline, 
Mr.  Bill  set  about  interpreting  Betsy  Ann's  gracious  con 
duct  ;  and  upon  reviewing  the  events  of  the  day,  and  his 
own  felicitous  doings  and  sayings,  the  interpretation  was 
very  favorable  to  himself.  He  almost  regretted  having  gone 
so  far  with  Miss  Karline ;  but  the  truth  was,  he  thought 
that  it  was  no  more  than  Betsy  Ann  could  have  expected 
in  being  so  slow  to  recognize  his  claims.  She  knew  what 
was  what.  Now  that  he  had  rather  turned  from  her  to 
Miss  Karline,  lo  and  behold!  here  she  comes  up  and  says 
she  will  always  be  glad  to  see  Mr.  Williams.  Jealousy, 
jealousy! 


2i8  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

Oh,  how  gay  he  did  become !  — the  greatest  beau  in  the 
neighborhood.  The  smiles  he  had  received  from  Miss 
Aery,  coming  on  immediately  after  the  chat  with  Miss 
Karline,  almost  spoiled  him.  He  had  not  intended,  in 
deed,  to  go  quite  so  far  with  Miss  Karline  on  that  particu 
lar  occasion,  although  he  was  saving  her  in  his  mind  for  his 
second  choice ;  but  his  long  residence  in  Dukesborough 
had  served  to  impart  such  ease  to  his  manners  and  gayety 
to  his  heart,  that  it  would  have  been  really  a  difficult  thing 
to  avoid  toying  with  Miss  Karline's  obvious  fondness  for 
him,  and  allowing  her  to  dream,  for  a  brief  period,  of  what 
happiness  she  might  have  if  he  should  conclude  to  bestow 
himself  upon  her.  Then  we  remember  that  Miss  Karline 
did  look  uncommonly  well  on  the  day  of  the  examination. 

He  had  many,  very  many,  reflections  upon  these  things. 
Time  enough,  he  thought. 

His  mother  had  never  fancied  either  his  living  in  town 
or  the  personal  improvement  that  had  been  brought  about 
by  it.  She  used  to  talk  with  my  father  about  him,  and  his 
remarks  confirmed  her  opinion  that  it  would  be  better  for 
him  to  quit  his  foolishness,  as  she  termed  it,  and  come 
straight  back  home  where  he  belonged.  We  have  seen 
how  fond  she  was  of  Miss  Karline ;  the  two  ladies  had 
grown  quite  cordial  with  each  other,  and  sometimes,  even 
before  the  examination,  Mrs.  Williams  would  make  a  re 
mark  that  would  make  Miss  Karline  blush,  and  afterward 
become  more  fond  of  Mrs.  Williams  than  ever.  The  latter 
was  in  high  glee  when  she  had  heard  of  her  son's  last  day's 
work,  and  she  would  have  gone  the  very  next  day  to  see 
Miss  Karline,  but  that  Mr.  Bill  told  her  that  she  would 
better  hold  on  awhile.  But  for  that  remark  of  Miss  Aery's 
at  the  Thigpens',  there  is  no  telling  what  might  have  taken 
place ;  for  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  improvement  that 
had  been  going  on  in  Mr.  Bill  was  not  such  as  appeared  to 


OLD    FRIENDS   AND   NEW. 


219 


Messrs.  Bland  &  Jones  to  be  of  the  kind  that  would  justify 
them  in  increasing  his  salary,  as  had  been  expected,  and  as 
had  been  even  promised  in  certain  contingencies.  Mr.  Bill 
had  never  doubted  that  it  would  be  at  least  doubled  in  another 
year,  in  view  of  the  invaluable  services  he  had  rendered. 
He  was  therefore  not  prepared  for  the  announcement  of 
Mr.  Bland,  the  leading  partner,  instead  of  being  raised  it 
would  probably  have  to  be  somewhat  reduced.  No  com 
plaint  was  made ;  but  these  times  was  hard,  you  know, 
William,  and  nobody  knows,  you  know — and  so  on.  We 
remember  that  Mr.  Bill  had  said  that  Mr.  Bland  was  a 
monstous  funny  man. 

So  Mr.  Bill  began  to  look  around  him.  But  then  Betsy  Ann 
was  so  pretty,  and  tempting,  and  cordial,  that  he  could  but 
look  at  her  more  often  than  at  anybody  else.  It  was,  of 
course,  to  be  expected  that  he  would  now  go  to  the  Thigpens' 
as  often  as  his  business  engagements  would  permit ;  but  he 
held  off,  and  availed  himself  of  all  opportunities  to  see  Betsy 
Ann,  and  ride  with  her  from  church.  On  such  occasions 
she  would  inquire  about  Miss  Karline  in  a  way  that  amused 
and  interested  him  very  much.  His  conscience  hurt  him 
sometimes  when  he  thought  how  Miss  Karline  might  be 
feeling  on  the  subject  of  his  continued  absence  and  silence  ; 
but,  law  me!  wasn't  such  things  common  every  day? 

"  Philip,"  he  said  to  me  one  day,  when  I  was  joking  him 
about  both  these  ladies — "  Philip,  I  do  b'lieve  I'm  gittin' 
to  be  a  reg'lar  old  flurrit." 

By  this  time  I  had  found  out  his  meaning  of  this  term, 
and  I  knew  what  he  was  after. 

Mr.  Bill  thought  and  thought.  At  last  he  made  up  his 
mind. 

One  Sunday,  on  the  way  from  church,  he  informed 
Betsy  Ann  that  he  had  something  very  pinted  to  say  to 
her.  She  smiled,  and  answered  that  she  had  been  expect- 


220  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

ing  it  for  some  time,  and  other  people  besides,  probably, 
and  that  she  was  quite  ready  to  hear  it.  Mr.  Bill  hemmed 
and  blushed,  and  she  laughed  and  begged  him  to  go  on. 
Then  he  got  so  full  and  so  confused  that  he  said  he  would 
have  to  send  her  a  letter,  that  his  words  was  entirely  absent 
from  him  at  the  present,  and  he  ruther  thought  he  should 
have  to  send  her  a  letter,  which  it  was  not  common  with 
him  that  he  could  not  express  himself,  but  his  words  in  fac' 
was  ruther  absent  from  him  at  the  present. 

She  looked  at  him  very  curiously,  and  declared  that  she 
couldn't  see,  to  save  her  life,  why  he  couldn't  tell  her  right 
then  what  she  knew  was  on  his  mind.  This  reassured  him, 
and  he  opened  his  heart. 

He  had  always  wanted  to  settle  hisself.  It  had  been 
his  desires,  yea,  a  long  time  before  he  had  went  to  Josiah 
Lorriby's  school ;  but  which  it  was  a  great  deal,  yea,  fair 
worse  sence  that — so  to  speak — ontimely  time,  becase — in 
cose — circumsances  then  forbid,  but  which  they  had  now 
arriv. 

Betsy  Ann  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  he  continued,  "  which  they  has  now  arriv, 
and  the  person  in  cos  ar — a  female.  You  know  that,  Miss 
Betsan?  " 

"  I  think  so.  I've  thought  so  some  time."  Still  she 
looked  at  him  very  curiously. 

"  In  cose  you  do.  Yes,  it's  a  female.  Nobody  but  a 
female  could  be  expected  to  have  anything  to  do  with  cir 
cumsances  o'  that  dilicate  kind.  Yes,  it  were  time  I  were 
settlin'  myself.  I'm  a  gittin'  'long  in  years  now,  and  it's 
time  that  a  man  o'  my  age  was  settlin'  hisself.  In  cose  hit 
could  not  be  did,  nor  it  could  not  be  did,  without  the  nec 
essary  female.  And  as  I  has  made  myself  understood  in 
all  the  circumsances,  in  cose  I  should  now  like  to  hear 
from  the  opposite  party." 


OLD   FRIENDS  AND  NEW.  221 

Betsy  Ann  looked  at  him  so  strangely  that  he  reflected 
a  moment,  and  then  supposing  that  perhaps  he  had  not 
made  himself  sufficiently  explicit,  went  through  another 
long  circumlocution.  His  absent  words  had  now  returned 
in  quite  sufficient  quantities.  He  spoke  of  the  school-days 
at  Lorriby's,  and  that  ontimely  time  when  those  'orrible 
people,  ef  it  hadn't  been  for  him,  mout  have  done  things  to 
Miss  Betsan  which  would  a  been  too  'orrible  to  think 
about ;  but  which  he  should  ever  be  glad  that  he  was  thar 
to  take  the — responshuability — so  to  speak ;  and  that  al 
ways  sence  then  his  bres'  had  been  a-beatin'  with  the  same 
tremenjuous  feelin's. 

"  Mr.  Williams,"  said  Betsy  Ann,  "  I — don't  think  I  ex 
actly  understand  you.  I  thought  I  did  once,  but  now  I'm 
afraid  I  don't." 

Mr.  Bill  reflected  again,  and  this  time  upon  the  fact  that 
in  addressing  females  one  must  employ  terms  suitable  to 
their  comprehension. 

"  My  meaning  is,"  he  answered,  with  a  winning  smile, 
"  that  as  I  now  desires  to  settle  myself,  I  also  desires,  in 
all  the  circumsances,  that  a  certain  person — the  present 
female,  for  instance — will  jine  along  with  me  and  travel 
along  with  me  down  the  road  to  happiness  and  bliss." 

They  were  now  near  the  Aery  gate. 

"  Mr.  Williams,"  she  said,  "  is  it  me  you're  been  talking 
about  all  this  time?  Is  it  me?  Mr.  Williams,  it  ain't  me? 
Please  tell  me,  Mr.  Williams,  that  you  don't  mean  ME!" 

"Yes,  but  I  do  mean  you.  Who,  in  all  the  circum 
sances  of  the  case,  could  I  mean  but  you?  " 

They  stopped  at  the  gate.  Mr.  Bill  alighted  gayly,  and 
started  to  lead  Betsy  Ann's  horse  to  the  block  in  order  to  assist 
her,  but  she  gathered  up  her  riding-skirts  and  was  upon  the 
ground  by  the  time  he  had  touched  the  bridle.  Then  she 
stood  and  regarded  him  yet  more  curiously  than  before. 


222  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

"  Mr.  Williams,"  she  said,  "  as  it's  me  you  mean,  you'll 
give  me  a  little  time  to  think  about  it,  I  suppose.  I  thought 
it  was  another  person  that  you  was  going  to  talk  about. 
But  as  it's  me,  you'll  give  me  a  little  time  to  think  about  it, 
I  know.  You'll  hear  from  me  soon ;  I'll  not  keep  you 
waiting  long." 

"  But  how?  "  asked  Mr.  Bill. 

"  Never  mind,"  answered  Miss  Aery,  "  I'll  find  the  way. 
Of  course  you  won't  say  anything  about  what's  passed  to 
day." 

Not  he ;  he  was  not  the  man  to  be  blabbin'  out  matters, 
'specially  dilicate  matters  like  the  present,  to  a  universal 
world. 

That's  right.  Good-bye  now.  She  ran  into  the  house, 
and  Mr.  Bill  rode  away. 

Somehow  he  couldn't  quite  make  it  out,  but  upon  the 
whole  he  thought  he  was  the  winner. 

As  he  rode  away,  Betsy  Ann,  who  had  reached  the  door, 
turned  and  looked  at  him.  She  leaned  against  the  door- 
facing,  patted  her  foot  against  the  floor  awhile,  and  thought, 
with  an  expression  upon  her  face  half  serious  and  half 
comic.  Then,  lifting  her  bonnet  and  shaking  her  curls 
back  from  her  neck,  she  said :  "  Yes,  he  must  tell  him. 
He  is  the  very  one  to  do  it ;  the  very,  very,  very  one.  I 
never,  never,  never — yes,  he's  the  very  one  to  tell  him,  and 
he  shall  do  it."  She  then  went  to  her  room,  singing  a 
hymn  and  talking  to  herself  alternately — 

"  '  Come,  thou  fount ' — 

"Yes,  sir,  that's  it — 

'  Of  every  blessing,' 

"  He's  the  very  one  to  do  it — 

'  Tune  my  heart ' — 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW.  223 

"  If  he  don't  give  him — 

'  To  sing  thy  grace :  * 
"  I  never,  never,  never — 

'  Streams  of  mercy,' 
"Oh,  Karline,  Karline!  — 

'  Never  ceasing,' 
"  Dear,  dear  Karline — 

'  Call  for  songs  of  loudest  praise.'  " 

And  then  Betsy  Ann  sat  down  upon  her  bed  and  cried 
and  laughed,  and  laughed  and  cried. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

MR.  BILL  waited  the  answer.  He  thought  to  himself 
that  he  would  have  preferred  a  categorical  affirmation  in 
the  beginning ;  but  he  had  often  said  that  wimming  was 
wimming,  and  it  wasn't  worth  while  to  try  to  alter  'em. 
This  was  on  a  Sunday,  as  we  have  seen.  Friday  night  had 
come,  and  yet  no  answer.  He  was  getting  a  little  inclined 
to  complain,  and  the  more  especially  as  he  had  seen  Betsy 
Ann,  on  that  very  afternoon,  riding  by  the  store,  on  her 
way  to  the  Thigpens'.  True,  she  bowed  very  graciously  to 
him  and  Mr.  Jones,  as  they  were  standing  in  the  door,  but 
otherwise  she  left  no  sign  as  she  passed.  That  night  Mr. 
Bill  didn't  sleep  well. 

On  the  next  morning,  about  ten  o'clock,  Allen  rode  up 
to  the  store.  He  alighted,  hitched  his  horse,  and  walked 
in.  There  was  nothing  remarkable  in  his  appearance,  ex 
cept  that  he  carried  in  his  hand  a  big,  freshly  cut  hickory- 
15 


224 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


stick.  He  seemed  to  be  in  remarkably  good  health  and 
spirits. 

"  Hello,  Allen! "  said  Mr.  Bland,  who  was  sitting  before 
the  door;  "what's  the  matter?  Lame?" 

"  Oh  no,  nothin'  partickler,"  answered  Allen.  "  Is 
William  Williams  in  this  mornin'  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he's  in  the  store.     Want  to  see  him?  " 

"  Not  very  partickler — only  for  a  minute  or  so.  Fine  day, 
Mr.  Bland." 

Allen  walked  in  and  saluted  Mr.  Bill  thus :  "  I  want  to 
see  you  a  minute  or  so,  Bill." 

"Why,  good-mornin',  Allen.  How's  all?"  said  Mr. 
Bill,  disposed  to  be  cordial,  but  feeling  a  little  uneasy. 

"  Well  as  common,"  answered  Allen  dryly.  "  I  wish  to 
speak  with  you  a  few  words.  Is  you  partickler  busy  this 
mornin'  that  we  mout  not  have  a  little  convisation  jes'  'twixt 
me  and  you?  Ef  you're  very  busy  I  can  wait  till  you're 
through.  But  I  must  have  a  little  bit  of  convisation  with 
you  befo'  I  leave.  Ef  you're  very  busy  I  can  set  out  thar 
with  Mr.  Bland,  and  wait." 

Mr.  Bill  looked  very  curiously  at  the  stick. 

"  I'm  not  so  very  busy,  Allen,  ef  it's  anything  very  par- 
tickler.  I  hope — that  is — in  cose  I  hope — " 

"  Certinly,"  said  Allen ;  "  sposen  we  take  a  little  walk, 
as  maybe  nary  one  of  us  mout  keer  about  havin'  other 
people  knowin*  'bout  our  business."  Allen  had  raised  his 
stick  and  was  holding  it  with  both  hands,  and  quietly 
striking  his  teeth  upon  the  head.  Mr.  Bill  scratched  his 
head. 

"Take — take  a  walk? — ye-yes.  But,  Allen,  ah — not — 
ah — not  too  fur." 

"  Oh  no,  jes'  across  the  street  thar." 

Mr.  Bill  came  slowly  from  behind  the  counter. 

"  Is  you  got  a  stick?  "  asked  Allen. 


OLD   FRIENDS  AND   NEW. 


225 


"Stick?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bill. 

"Yes;  stick." 

"  No.  I  sildom — ah — walks  with  a  stick  nohow,  and 
specially — sich  a — sich  a — short  ways  as  that.  Oh,  stick! " 
and  he  began  backing  again  behind  the  counter. 

Allen  quietly  placed  his  own  in  a  corner.  Mr.  Bill 
seemed  a  little  reassured,  and  coming  forth  again,  they 
walked  across  the  street  and  leaned  upon  a  rail-fence  which 
enclosed  a  lot  on  which  several  calves  were  feeding.  Mr. 
Bill  managed  so  as  to  get  a  corner  between  himself  and 
Allen,  and  seemed  rather  thankful  that  one  of  the  rails 
protruded  some  distance,  on  which  he  could  rest  his  hands. 

"  Bill  Williams,"  said  Allen,  "maybe  you  know  what  I'm 
goin'  to  talk  to  you  about,  and  maybe  you  don't.  I  know 
you  don't  know  all,  but  I  think  it's  highly  prob'le  you 
know  some."  And  Allen  took  a  chew  of  tobacco. 

Mr.  Bill  looked  anxiously  back  toward  the  store  for  a 
moment.  "  Allen,  I  hain't  the  least  idee — that  is — I  has — 
ah—" 

"  That  is,  you  has  a  idee,  is  it?  " 

"  Allen  Thigpen,  I'm  as  good  a  fren  as  you've  got  in  all 
this  blessed  world — and — " 

"  That  ain't  got  a  thing  to  do  with  it,"  said  Allen ; 
"not  the  very  slightest  little  teeny  bit."  Allen  chewed 
away  until  he  could  squeeze  his  quid  into  one  side  of  his 
jaw.  He  had  never  appeared  to  Mr.  Bill  to  be  so  stout 
and  strong ;  his  very  jaws  looked  as  if  they  could  grip  any 
thing  they  might  take  a  fancy  to.  "  Does  you,"  said  Allen, 
when  his  quid  was  fixed  satisfactorily — "  does  you,  or  does 
you  not?  Which?" 

"  Is  it — ah — Allen — ar  it  a  fe — female?  " 

"  Hit  it  Vight  squar'  the  first  jump ! " 

"  Ar  it  Miss — ah,  Miss—" 

"  Right  agin.     Yes,  it's  her." 


226  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

Mr.  Bill  declared  that  he  had  always  been  one  of  the 
best  friends  that  Miss  Karline  ever  had,  and  not  only  so, 
but  he  always  had  respected  her,  and  ef  he  was  to  be 
asked  his  opinion  about  Miss  Karline,  he  should — 

Oh,  nobody  wanted  his  opinion,  at  least  yit  awhile. 

"  Bill  Williams,"  said  Allen  sternly,  "  I  wants  to  know  ef 
you  ever  did  want  sister  Karline ;  and  ef  you  did,  when, 
and  why  not  now?  and  ef  you  didn't,  what's  all  your  talk- 
in'  and  carrin'  on  been  about,  and  what's  your  objects,  and 
your  meanin's,  and  your  intentions?  Now  I  wants  you  to 
talk  up  squar'.  And  when  you're  done,  I'm  goin'  to  do 
some  talkin'  myself,  and  I'm  goin'  to  talk  squar'.  And 
then  I've  got  somethin'  else  to  say — about — about — some 
other  matters.  I  tell  you  now  I  want  squar'  talkin',  and 
no  foolin'." 

Mr.  Bill  saw  that  he  was  in  difficulties.  His  too  gay 
career  was  having  some  of  its  consequences.  "  Allen,"  he 
said,  "don't — please  don't  talk — so  loud — and  be — so 
brash.  Le's  move  on  up  a  little  furder."  But  he  looked 
back  at  the  store,  and  seemed  to  doubt  whether  it  might 
not  be  best  to  remain  within  easy  call.  Notwithstanding 
his  avowed  friendship  for  Allen,  he  did  not  prefer  his  so 
ciety  this  morning  so  entirely  as  to  wholly  disregard  all 
other.  They  walked  a  few  steps  further  on  and  stopped, 
Mr.  Bill  again  getting  a  corner  between  Allen  and  himself. 
He  drew  a  long  breath.  He  would  have  gladly  made  a 
long  speech  if  Allen  had  not  insisted  on  his  being  perfectly 
"  squar'." 

"  Allen,  I  has  long  wanted  to  settle  myself,  yea,  even 
befo'  I  quit  the  country  and  moved  into  Dukesborough. 
Somehow  I  got  dissatisfied  in  the  country  and  thought  I 
would  try  town  awhile,  and — " 

"  Oh,  ding  the  country,  and  the  town  too ! " 

"  Cert'nly,  cert'nly.     As  I  was  sayin',  I  has  wanted  to 


OLD   FRIENDS  AND  NEW. 


227 


settle  myself,  and  so  did  mammy  want  it ;  and  at  one  time 
she  and  me  too  was  thinkin'  that  Miss — that  is — Miss 
Karline  were  the  very  person  that  could  make  a  man  like 
myself  go  on  hand  and  hand  down  the  road  to  happiness 
and  bliss ;  and  which  even  now,  ef  she  had  ary  friend 
upon  the  top-side  of  this  universal,  ontimely  old  world — " 
"  Oh,  ding  all  about  friends,  and  all  sich! " 
"  Cert'nly,  cert'nly.  But  lately,  it  is  true  that  they  ar 
another  person — which — I  don't  like  to  name  names — but 
it — cert'nly — yes — in  cose — it  ar  a  fe — female ;  and  then, 
yes — a  fe — fe — " 

"  That'll  do,"  said  Allen,  bobbing  his  head—"  that'll  do. 
Well,  now,  Bill,  one  of  the  curiousest  things  about  the 
whole  business  is  that  you  should  a  thought,  even  ef  sister 
Karline  would  a  stood  sich  as  that,  that  you  should  a 
thought  that  /  would.  I  got  to  be  plain  with  you,  becase 
it's  a  right  dilicate  business.  How  sister  Karline  could 
take  a  likin'  to  you,  Bill  Williams,  I  nuver  could  under- 
stan' ;  but  that  ain't  nuther  here  nor  thar.  But  that  part 
of  it  ain't  none  o'  my  business.  You  talked  to  her,  and  so 
did  your  mother ;  and  you  two  come  it  over  her  somehow, 
I  don't  know  how :  I  sposen  sich  things  happens  every- 
whar.  You  have  as  good  as  ast  her  to  have  you,  you  and 
your  mother  betwixt  you,  and  she  did  make  up  her  mind 
to  do  it — without  consultin'  o'  me ;  I  had  nothin'  to  do 
'long  with  it,  and  I'm  glad  of  it.  But  so,  lo  and  behold, 
you  back  out.  Well,  now,  you  see,  Bill  Williams,  sich  as 
that  I — don't — stand."  At  this  point  Allen  made  him  a 
low  bow.  "  Bill  Williams,"  he  continued,  "  I  have  left  home 
to  come  here  this  mornin'  to  put  two  things  to  you.  I  didn't 
expect  to  put  but  one  at  first — but — but — on  thinkin'  a 
little  about  it,  and  talkin'  a  little  about  it  with — a  certin 
person,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  put  you  up  two.  Now  see 
here:  sister  Karline  don't  understan'  all  your  ways  yit, 


228  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

though  she  'spicions  you  strong.  Now  here's  them  two 
things:  You've  got  to  go  to  sister  Karline  and  ask  her 
plump,  squar'  up  to  have  you,  and  let  her  be  the  one  that's 
to  say  no,  ef  anybody  have  to  say  it ;  or,  you've  got  me 
to  whip.  Now  one  or  t'other :  you've  got  to  lay  the  whole 
case  befo'  sister  Karline,  and  do  what  she  say,  or  you  got 
me  to  whip.  Which  will  you  do  ?  Maybe  you  ruther  take 
the  last." 

Mr.  Bill  raised  his  arms  in  a  deprecating  attitude,  as  if 
few  things  were  further  from  his  intentions  or  desires  than 
to  inflict  corporal  injury  upon  Mr.  Thigpen. 

Oh,  what  a  quandary  he  was  in! 

"  Bill  Williams,"  Allen  began  again,  "  I  had  made  up  my 
mind  this  mornin'  to  pitch  right  spang  into  you  the  first  thing 
after  I  laid  my  eyes  on  you.  I  tell  you  why.  I  thought  you 
jes'  been  triflin"  'long  with  sister  Karline,  and  never  did  keer 
anything  about  her  nohow.  Not  that  I  don't  know  that 
she's  the  best  'oman  in  this  world,  and  worth  two  dozen 
sich  fellers  as  you  or  ary —  Oh,  ding  it  all ! "  and  Allen 
wiped  his  eye  and  blew  his  nose.  "  But  I  notice  sence  you 
been  livin'  in  this  here  town,  you  'pear  to  be  like  you  feel 
like  you  better'n  t'other  people,  and  I  thought  you  jes'  been 
carrin'  on  with  her  and  havin'  your  game  and  fun  outen 
her.  But  you  say  jes'  now  that  you  did  one  time  like  her 
well  enough  to  have  her,  or  leastways  you  thought  you  did. 
Is  that  so  in  fac"?  Mind  you,  now,  no  foolin'  and  no 
dodgin' ;  I  want  squar'  talk  from  you." 

"  It  ar  a  blessed  fac',  Allen,  a  blessed,  blessed  fac',  on 
the  honor  of  a  man  which  he  were  once  gay  and  happy  as 
you,  but  which  he  now  hardly  know  hisself,  and  what  he 
ought  to — ah — that  is — in  all  the  ontimely,  as  it  war,  cir- 
cumsances  of — ah — " 

"  Oh,  ding  the  circumstances ! " 

"Cert'nly,  cert'nly.     But  listen  to   me,  Allen,  please. 


OLD.  FRIENDS   AND   NEW. 


229 


The  difficulty  is,  I  have  used  words  of  a  certing  kind,  yea 
to  another  person — I  can't  say  who — becase  I  have  prom 
ised  not ;  but  you  know — in  cose  it  ar  a  fe — fe — male, 
and  I'm — you  see,  Allen, — oh  me — I'm  sorter  in  honor 
bound  thar  too,  and  I'm  a-expectin'  of  a  anser  every  day. 
Ef  it  wasn't  for  that — oh,  my  blessed  me!"  and  Mr.  Bill 
scratched  his  head  with  both  hands. 

"  Ef  it  wasn't  for  that,  what?  "  asked  Allen  quickly. 

"Oh,  Allen — I  don't — know — but  I  do  b'lieve,  and  so 
do  mammy,  and  I  always  shall  b'lieve  that — ah — Miss 
Karline  is — the  best  'oman  in  the  united  world,"  and  he 
rubbed  his  nose  with  the  back  of  his  wrist,  and  looked  very 
pitiful  and  longing. 

"  And  you're  waitin'  your  anser,  is  you?  " 

"  Indeed  I  am,  Allen,  and  which  I  hardly  know." 

"  Well,  I've  fotch  it  to  you." 

Allen  took  a  chew  and  started  to  hand  the  twist  to  Mr. 
Bill,  but  gave  up  the  notion  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  Mr. 
Bill  opened  his  eyes  wide.  "  Yes,  I  fotch  your  anser  to 
you,  and  hit  war  another  piece  of  my  business  with  you 
this  mornin'.  Bill  Williams,  when  you  thought  about 
drappin'  sister  Karline  for  Betsan  Aery,  that  war  a  thing 
that  couldn't  well  be  hope.  Ef  you  could  a  got  Betsy 
Ann,  or  ef  you  had  a  thought  you  could  a  got  her,  I  don't 
blame  you  for  wantin'  of  her.  Still  it  was  shabby  in  you, 
not  to  act  squar'  up  like  a  man,  and  go  to  sister  Karline 
and  tell  her  all  about  it.  But  still  I  can't  blame  you  for 
wantin'  of  Betsy  Ann." 

Allen  pulled  out  his  twist  and  offered  it  to  Mr.  Bill. 

"You  don't  chaw?  I  thought  you  chawed.  Well,  you 
see,  Bill,  Betsy  Ann  and  sister  Karline  is  monstous  friendly 
— we're  all  friendly.  I  sposen  you  know  that?  " 

"  In  cose  I  does,  and  that  what  make  me  say — " 

"Hold  on!     Betsy  Ann's  the  person  you  spoke  to  last 


230 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


Sunday.  She  told  you  she  would  give  you  a  anser,  didn't 
she?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Bill,  not  knowing  exactly  what  he 
thought,  or  what  he  desired. 

"Well,  I  fotch  her  anser  to  you.  She  tell  me  to  tell 
Mr.  Williams  (for  they  was  the  very  words  she  said) — she 
says  to  me  to  tell  Mr.  Williams  that  she  is  very  sorry  for 
the  misonderstandin'  betwixt  her  and  him ;  for  she  thought 
that  his  idees  was  about  another  person,  or,  as  you  mout 
say,  another  female ;  and  that  she  didn't  know  no  better  till 
last  Sunday,  and  that  she  still  must  sposen  that  she  must  be 
mistaken,  or  him  one.  But  she  furthermo'  ast  me  to  say, 
ef  she  is  not  mistaken,  nor  him  nuther,  and  she  is  the  per 
son  who  he  do  want,  then  so  fur  as  she  is  consarned  he  is 
too  late.  She  feel  the  honor  and  all  sich,  but  he  is  too 
late." 

Allen  tore  off  about  a  cubic  inch  of  tobacco,  put  it  in 
his  mouth  and  spat  at  a  rock  about  fifteen  feet  off. 

"Yes,  Bill,  too  late.  Ahead  of  you  thar,  Bill.  Hit 
couldn't  be  hope.  I  beat  you  thar." 

Pitiful  and  perplexed  looked  Mr.  Bill,  Allen  chewing 
away  as  if  it  were  Betsy  Ann  herself  that  he  was  eating  up. 

"  Now  lookee  here,  Bill :  sister  Karline  don't  know  about 
all  this  here  business  of  yourn  and  Betsy  Ann.  I  wanted 
to  tell  her  right  squar'  up,  but  Betsy  Ann  said  no ;  so  she 
don't  know  it.  Now  listen  to  me.  Sister  Karline  and  me 
has  got  to  have  a  division  of  what's  thar  on  the  place  this 
fall.  As  she's  a  female,  and  as  she's  the  best  sister  that  any 
man  ever  did  have  in  this  world,  I'm  goin'  to  'low  her  five 
hundred  dollars  the  Vantage  in  the  settlement.  Ef  arfter 
what's  past  you  and  she  can  make  it  up — but  which  I  tell 
you  now  that  onless  you  wanted  her  and  ruther  have  her 
than  ary  nother  female,  she  wouldn't  have  you  ef  you  had 
a  gold  nigger  hung  to  every  har  on  top  of  your  head — but 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW. 


231 


ef,  I  say,  ef  you  and  she  has  a  mind  to  make  it  up,  thar  it 
is.  Ef  not,  and  ef  you  don't  make  some  sort  o'  satisfaction 
for  your  carrin'  on,  and  ef  you  don't  promise  me  right  here 
that  you're  goin'  to  do  it,  you  got  me  to  whip." 

Allen  threw  out  his  quid,  planted  himself  firmly  on  his 
pegs,  clenched  his  fists,  and  looked  as  if  he  meant  all  that 
he  said. 

Mr.  Bill  looked  at  Allen,  then  on  the  ground,  then  back 
at  the  store,  then  over  the  fence  at  the  calves.  His  coun 
tenance  became  more  and  more  calm.  Finally  he  looked 
at  Allen  again,  smiled  blandly,  and  said :  "Allen,  I  wouldn't 
hurt  a  har  o'  your  head,  not  for  all  the  money  that  this  on- 
timely  old  world  could  raise  to  pay  me  for  doin'  it ;  and — " 

"Oh,  the  dickence!" 

"  Cert'nly,  cert'nly.  But  what  I'm  a-thinkin*  about  now 
is  a  female,  and  that  female  ar  Miss  Karline.  Betsan  ar 
right,  and  I  knowed  it  ef  I  had  a  knowed  what  I  was  about. 
It  was  Miss  Karline  that  I  wanted  all  the  time.  Ef  she'll 
take  me  arfter  what's  past,  I'll  jine  my  heart  along  with 
hern,  and  go  hand  in  hand  along  with  her  down  the  road 
to  happiness  and  bliss." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  keer  what  road  you  'spect  to  take ;  but  ef 
you  foller  sister  Karline's  advice  and  go  to  work,  you'll  go 
safe.  They  ain't  no  doubt  about  that." 

"  Cert'nly,  cert'nly ;  that's  ezactly  what  I  means." 

"You  do  it,  then?" 

"  I  do.  I  thought  I  done  already  said  what  was  cata 
mount  to  that.  I  always  did  love  her  the  best,  but  which 
I  didn't  ezactly  know  it  till  jes'  now." 

Mr.  Bill  took  Allen's  hand,  and  said  it  would  do  him 
proud  to  call  him  brother  and  likewise  Betsan  sister.  Allen 
let  him  hold  it  an  instant,  and  then  withdrew  it  and  took 
out  his  plug. 

"  Have  a  chaw?     No?     I  forgit;  you  don't  chaw." 


232  DUKESBOfcOUGH   TALES. 

"  Allen,"  said  Mr.  Bill,  as  they  were  about  to  separate, 
"maybe  it's  better  not — to — ah — say  anything  to  Miss 
Karline  'bout — last  Sunday.  Wimming's  wimming,  you 
know,  and — " 

"  I  got  nothin'  mo'  to  do  with  it,  Bill ;  I  shall  say  nothin' 
'bout  it.  But  I  tell  you  now,  you  better  be  keerful :  sister 
Karline  ain't  so  easy  fooled  as  you  mout  think.  You  be 
keerful." 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

Miss  KARLINE  did  not  inquire  of  her  brother  on  what 
errand  he  was  going  to  Dukesborough.  She  had  been 
more  than  usually  thoughtful  of  late,  but  had  kept  her 
thoughts  to  herself.  Betsy  Ann  was  treated  at  this  visit  as 
she  always  had  been,  and  especially  since  her  engagement 
with  Allen.  Mr.  Bill's  name  was  mentioned  once  or  twice 
casually,  but  Miss  Karline  did  not  notice  the  allusion. 
The  next  day  Betsy  Ann  went  home,  and  that  very  after 
noon  Mr.  Bill  rode  up.  Allen  had  seen  him  coming  and 
dodged  out  of  view. 

Mr.  Bill  tried  to  look  gay  and  gallant.  "  And  how  is 
my  friend  Miss  Karline  this  sweet  and  lovely  evenin'  like?  " 

Miss  Karline  was  quite  cool.  Of  course  she  could  but 
ask  Mr.  Williams  to  take  a  seat.  She  very  politely  re 
marked  that  as  she  sposen  he  had  come  to  see  her  brother 
on  business,  she  would  have  him  called  in.  Mr.  Bill  pro 
tested  that  he  had  not  come  to  see  Allen,  but  her,  and  her 
only.  For  the  life  of  Miss  Karline  she  could  not  under 
stand  what  about,  and  thought  he  must  be  mistaken. 
If  Mr.  Williams  did  not  want  to  see  her  brother,  then  he 
ought  to  have  come  yesterday,  for  then  they  had  a  very 
pleasant  girl  in  the  house,  which  she  might  have  been  very 
pleasant  company  for  Mr.  Williams. 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW. 


233 


Mr.  Bill  saw  his  danger,  and  went  right  to  work.  He 
made  a  rather  slighting  allusion  to  the  young  lady  in  ques 
tion  ;  but  Miss  Karline  caught  him  up  at  once,  and  warned 
him  to  be  keerful  how  he  talked.  So  Mr.  Bill  had  to  come 
out  squarely.  He  confessed,  and  vowed  his  love  anew, 
and  even  condescended  to  beg.  But  it  all  amounted  to 
nothing.  He  told  his  mother  that  night  that  Miss  Karline 
had  kicked  him  so  high  that  the  bluebirds  had  time  enough 
to  pick  every  har  from  his  head  and  build  their  nesteses 
outen  it. 

"  Jes'  as  I  'spected,"  said  his  mother.  But  she  did  not 
reproach  him  harshly,  for  she  saw  that  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life  he  was  seriously  mortified  and  depressed.  Then,  as 
his  engagement  with  Bland  &  Jones  had  just  expired,  he  had 
come  home  and  was  to  stay  there.  This  had  gratified  her 
greatly,  and  so  she  had  not  the  heart  to  scold  him.  But 
she  told  him  to  go  on  and  attend  to  the  business.  In  a  day 
or  two  he  expressed  the  intention  of  going  to  see  Miss  Kar 
line  again,  but  his  mother  would  not  hear  of  this.  Wait, 
I  tell  you,  wait. 

A  few  days  after  this,  as  Miss  Karline  was  sitting  in  her 
door,  Mrs.  Williams  came  up.  She  rose  immediately  and 
went  out  to  meet  her.  Miss  Karline  was,  perhaps,  a  little 
more  cordial  than  usual,  for  she  felt  that  she  could  but 
sympathize  with  Mrs.  Williams  in  what  she  very  well  knew 
was  giving  her  distress.  So  she  met  her  even  affectionately, 
and  insisted  upon  carrying  into  the  house  a  curious-looking 
bundle  which  the  old  lady  had  brought  with  her.  It  was 
something  sewed  up  carefully  in  a  pillow-case. 

After  entering  into  the  house  and  exchanging  a  remark 
or  two  about  the  weather,  their  health,  and  so  forth,  Mrs. 
Williams  looked  at  the  bundle  with  a  most  sorrowful  face, 
and  then  at  Miss  Karline.  Then  she  peaked  up  her  features 
as  if  for  a  cry,  and  shook  her  head  dismally. 


234 


DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 


"  Something  is  the  matter  with  you,  Mrs.  Williams ;  I  jes' 
know  they  is.  Ain't  you  sick,  Mrs.  Williams?  "  and  Miss 
Karline  rose  to  get  the  camphor,  which  stood  ready  in  a 
big  bottle  on  the  mantel. 

Mrs.  Williams  put  out  her  hand.  "  Not  that,  not  that. 
I  ain't  sick  in  body ;  it's  here."  She  laid  her  hand  upon 
her  heart  and  murmured  feebly,  "  It's  broke." 

Miss  Karline  looked  down  at  the  floor,  and  felt  very 
sorry  for  her  friend. 

"  Open  that  bundle,  Karline,  if  you  please."  Miss  Kar 
line  opened  it  slowly  and  cautiously,  as  if  she  suspected  it 
to  be  an  infernal  machine.  She  took  out  the  contents, 
laid  it  on  the  table,  then  sat  down,  and  exclaiming,  "  Oh, 
Mrs.  Williams ! "  she  folded  her  hands  on  her  lap  and 
leaned  her  head  upon  the  table. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Williams,  "hit's  Bonaparte  a-crossin' 
o'  the  Rhine.  I  hain't  the  heart  to  keep  it  now.  Hit's 
never  been  spread  but  once.  I  put  hit  on  the  shed-room 
bed,  jes'  to  see  how  it  would  look,  and  it  look  lovely  indeed. 
And  then  I  took  it  off  and  folded  it  nice,  jes'  as  you  see  it 
now,  and  put  it  in  the  chist ;  and,  says  I,  I'll  save  it  till — 
oh,  my  goodness  me!  But  it's  a  life  o'  disappintments." 
And  she  continued  to  shake  her  head. 

Oh,  Miss  Karline,  Miss  Karline!  How  can  you  afford 
to  behold  such  distress?  Indeed  you  cannot,  for  your 
head  is  kept  leaning  on  the  table. 

"  Yes,  Karline,  I  couldn't  keep  Bonaparte  any  longer 
now,  arfter  my  heart's  done  goned  and  broke.  And  what 
have  broke  it?  Hit's  becase  my  onliest  child's  heart  are 
broke  also  too  and  likewise  the  same." 

"  If  his  heart's  broke,"  said  Miss  Karline,  raising  her 
head,  "  it  wasn't  me  that  broke  it."  She  spoke  firmly,  but 
not  harshly. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  Karline,  you  don't  know  that  child.     Yes ; 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW. 


235 


hit's  you  that  broke  it.  He's  a-dyin'  for  you  day  by  day. 
He  jes'  goes  about,  and  goes  about.  He  ain't  got  no  stomach 
for  his  vittals.  His  westcoats  has  had  to  be  tuck  up  two 
blessed  times ;  and  he  don't,  and  I  sometimes  think  he 
can't,  tie  his  shoes.  He  scacely  ever  says  anything  to  me 
nor  nobody  else ;  and  my  feelin's  is  powerful,  that,  without 
some  change,  and  that  soon,  the  poor  child  is  a-goin'  to 
lose  of  his  senses.  Hit  was  only  last  night  when  I  was  a- 
tryin'  to  'courage  him  up  a  leetle  bit,  says  he  to  me,  says 
he,  '  Let  me  alone,  mammy,  I'm  moloncholly,'  and  then  he 
got  up  and  tried  to  sing  that  hime — 

'  An'  let  this  feebyul  body  fail, 
An'  let  it  faint  or  die ; ' 

and  he  broke  down  befo'  he  got  through  the  very  fust 
veerse,  and  went  'long  off  to  bed.  Oh,  my  goodness 
blessed  me! " 

It  was  in  vain  that  Miss  Karline  insisted  that  it  wasn't 
she  that  had  placed  Mr.  Bill  in  his  present  condition.  She 
didn't  know  the  child.  It  was  true  that  he  had  done  wrong 
that  Sunday,  but  it  was  all  them  Dukesborough  ways  ;  and 
she  knowed  that  he  loved  Miss  Karline  the  best,  and  that 
he  has  now  done  quit  Dukesborough  and  all  sich  foolish 
ness,  and  that  even  Mr.  Pearch  said  William  had  done 
ezactly  what  he  ought  to  a  done  when  he  quit  Dukesbor 
ough  ;  and  he  war  nately  a  industrous  young  man,  and  he 
told  me  with  his  own  mouth  that  if  William  could  git 
Karline  Thigpen,  he  didn't  have  a  doubt  that  it  would  be 
the  finest  thing  that  could  happen  to  him,  and  he  thought 
he  would  git  studdy  and  make  a  good  farmer.  Now  they 
was  the  very  words  he  said,  and — oh,  gracious,  gracious, 
gracious!" 

Miss  Karline  deeply  sympathized  with  the  widow.  She 
felt  sorry  for  her  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart.  They  had 


236  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

a  long  talk.  "  I  wouldn't  a  blamed  Mr.  Williams,"  she 
said,"  for  likin'  Betsy  Ann ;  she's  younger  than  I  am,  and 
a  heap  prettier.  But — he  oughtn't  to  been  courtin'  both 
of  us  at  the  same  time.  He  ought  to  made  up  his  mind, 
and  not  trifle  with  people — still  he  was  gentlemany  in 
tellin'  me  about  it,  and  which — " 

Miss  Karline  could  go  no  further.  She  leaned  her  head 
on  the  table  again.  The  widow  pressed  upon  her  as  she 
found  her  giving  way.  Oh,  how  she  did  dwell  on  Mr. 
Bill's  moloncholly,  and  the  tuckin'  up  of  his  westcoats,  and 
his  havin'  of  no  stomach  for  his  vittals!  But  Miss  Karline 
would  not  make  any  promise.  She  would  think  about  it. 
The  widow  said  that  she  could  not  take  back  home  with  her 
Bonaparte  a-crossin'  o'  the  Rhine  without  some  little,  some 
leetle  bit  o'  hope  for  her  poor  'flicted  child.  Miss  Karline 
looked  at  the  counterpane  for  a  moment.  She  had  made 
•  the  counterpin  for  her — leastways  she  and  Betsy  Ann  to 
gether,  which  of  cose  she  had  furnished  the  thread  herself 
and  done  most  of  the  weavin'.  She  had  made  it  for  Mrs. 
Williams,  and  for  nobody  but  her,  and  which,  she  had  said, 
and  would  say  it  again,  that  she  had  loved  her  next  to  her 
own  blessed  mother  that  was  now  dead  and  gone ;  and  that 
as  for  herself,  if  she  knowed  herself,  she  was  not  a  person 
that,  when  she  give  things  as  presents  to  people,  would  ever 
wish  to  take  'em  back  again. 

During  this  and  more  such  talk,  Miss  Karline  care 
fully  sewed  up  the  counterpane  in  the  pillow-case,  and, 
though  she  declared  that  she  could  make  no  promises,  the 
widow  hugged  her  tight.  She  shortly  afterward  took  her 
leave  and  rode  on  home,  carrying  tenderly  in  her  lap  Bona 
parte  a-crossin'  o'  the  Rhine. 

The  next  day  Mr.  Bill  was  at  the  Thigpens'  good  and 
soon.  He  came  in  with  a  subdued  and  solemn  air.  He 
had  been  extremely  moloncholly,  he  confessed.  After  some 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW. 


237 


preliminary  remarks,  in  which  he  again  spoke  of  how  im 
portant  it  was,  in  this  vain  and  foolish  world,  for  a  man  to 
settle  hisself,  he  got  upon  his  knees  before  Miss  Karline, 
and  declared  that  he  loved  her  the  best  and  the  onliest  of 
all  the  females  in  this  blessed  world,  and  that  he  would 
never  rise  from  that  blessed  floor  until  she  had  forgive 
him. 

Miss  Karline  declared  to  him,  upon  her  word  and  honor 
she  declared  to  him,  that  if  it  was  not  for  his  mother's  sake 
she  wouldn't ;  and  as  for  Betsy  Ann,  she  was  goin'  to  be  her 
dear  sister  anyhow,  and  it  wouldn't  look  right  maybe ;  and 
for  the  sake  of  his  mother,  and — then  Miss  Karline  broke 
down,  and  extended  him  her  hand.  Mr.  Bill  arose,  flung 
away  his  moloncholly  in  an  instant,  and  declared  that  he 
could  now  see  his  way  clear  all  down  the  road  to  happiness 
and  bliss. 

Just  then  Allen  came  in.     Seeing  at  once  that  all  was 
settled,  he  went  to  his  sister  and  put  his  arm  around  her. 
Finding  he  was  about  to  cry,  he  jerked  out  his  tobacco, 
tore  off  a  big  piece,  crammed  it  in  his  mouth,  and,  hand 
ing  the  twist  to  Mr.  Bill,  said : 

"Have  a  thaw,  Bill?     No,  I  forgith,  you  don't  thaw." 


CHAPTER    XV. 

A  COUNTRY  wedding  in  Georgia,  in  the  times  whereof  I 
write,  was  a  thing  worth  going  to.'  Allen  and  Betsy  Ann 
were  married  on  a  Tuesday,  and  Mr.  Bill  and  Miss  Karline 
were  to  be  joined  on  the  next  Thursday.  The  best  showing 
was  reserved  for  the  last.  They  would  have  had  both 
marriages  on  the  same  night  if  it  had  been  convenient. 
As  it  was,  Allen  and  Betsy  Ann  agreed  in  insisting  that  the 


238  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

big  supper  should  be  at  his  sister's.  All  the  neighbors  were 
invited,  men,  women,  and  children ;  and  most  of  them  went. 
Pig,  lamb,  turkey,  chicken,  duck,  pea-fowl,  goose,  part 
ridge,  pigeon,  cake,  syllabub.  Oh,  the  syllabub!  Every 
tumbler  and  wine-glass  in  the  neighborhood  had  been  called 
in,  and  were  then  incapable  of  holding  it  all.  Miss  Karline, 
and  Betsy  Ann,  and  Mrs.  Glisson,  and  Allen,  and  Brinkly, 
they  all  made  it.  How  they  did  work  at  it!  Betsy  Ann 
and  Allen  beat  up  the  whites  of  the  eggs,  and  Betsy  Ann  de 
clared  a  hundred  times  that  day  that  that  syllabub  wouldn't 
be  fit  to  drink,  because  Allen  would  keep  leaving  off  the 
beating  just  to  give  her  cheeks  a  pinch.  Brinkly  Was  in 
good  feather.  It  was  understood  that  he  was  to  be  edu 
cated,  even  to  sending  to  college,  by  Mr.  Overton,  who 
was  now  gone  to  Virginia,  but  would  be  back  in  good  time 
for  all  purposes. 

The  guests  all  reached  the  house  at  the  appointed  time. 
The  marriage  was  to  take  place  by  early  candle-light,  and 
in  those  days  the  night  was  understood  to  begin  as  the  sun 
went  down. 

Mr.  Bill  had  on  a  blue  coat,  buff  pants  and  vest,  a  white 
stock,  pumps,  and  silk  stockings.  No  taking  up  of  waist 
coats  now.  He  was  never  so  gay.  He  answered  the 
preacher  with  a  Yes  so  loud  that  you  would  have  thought 
nobody  had  ever  before  taken  a  responsibility  with  a  greater 
resolve  to  keep  it.  Miss  Karline,  in  pure  white  all  over, 
looked  as  if  she  knew  it  was  a  serious  business,  but  she  had 
reflected  upon  it,  and  had  made  up  her  mind  to  go  through 
with  it.  After  the  ceremony  was  over,  the  shaking  of 
hands  began.  How  they  did  wring!  Mr.  Bill  declared 
scores  of  times  that  he  could  now  look  ahead  and  see  the 
way  perfectly  clear.  It  was  a  great  responsibility,  he  ad 
mitted  ;  but  he  had  somebody  to  help  him  take  it  now,  and 
he  felt  that  he  could  now  bid  farewell  to  a  vain  and  foolish, 


OLD   FRIENDS  AND   NEW.  239 

but  which  now  it  were  also  a  blessed  and  glorious,  old 
world.  He  twitted  Allen  on  having  beaten  him  so  far. 
This  was  done  in  a  very  jocose  and  friendly  way,  how 
ever.  He  knew  how  safe  it  was  to  run  Miss  Karline 
against  anybody,  even  Allen's  wife.  Allen  made  no  other 
answer  to  his  boast  than  this:  "Sister  Karline  will  car' 
you  safe,  Bill,  ef  you  foller  her  advice,  and  go  to  work.  I 
never  wanted  a  chaw  o'  tobacker  as  bad  in  my  born  days ; 
I  hain't  had  one  sence  day  befo'  yistiday." 

The  fiddling  and  the  dancing  began ;  and  then  the  sup 
per — turkey,  turkey,  cake  and  syllabub,  syllabub  and  cake. 
The  only  thing  that  marred  Miss  Karline's  happiness  was 
that  people  wouldn't  be  everlastingly  eating.  Many  de 
clared  that  they  were  filled  up  to  the  very  top  of  their 
throats,  but  Miss  Karline  was  for  stuffing  in  more  and  wash 
ing  down  with  syllabub.  It  was  nothin'  in  the  world  but 
froth,  and  wouldn't  hurt  anybody.  Mr.  Bill  indorsed  his 
wife  fully,  and  it  was  said  the  number  of  tumblers  he  took 
couldn't  be  counted. 

The  dancing  went  on  until  nearly  midnight,  the  older 
guests  having  departed  long  before  that  hour.  The  grand 
thing,  after  the  Virginia  reel,  was  a  duet  of  some  sort  be 
tween  Mr.  Bill  and  Betsy  Ann.  The  question  was  who 
could  hold  out  the  longest.  Mr.  Bill  gave  the  challenge, 
and  counted  on  a  great  triumph,  at  which  he  knew  Miss 
Karline  would  be  gratified.  His  idea  was  to  break  her 
down  by  vigorous  moves  in  the  beginning.  The  quantity  of 
syllabub  he  had  taken,  together  with  the  joyousness  of  the 
occasion,  made  him  feel  that,  like  old  Molly's  colt,  he  could 
jump  over  the  moon. 

Betsy  Ann  understood  his  little  game,  and  called  to  the 

fiddler  for  a  more  vigorous  measure.     It  was  Morris,  who 

belonged  to  Mr.  Parkinson.     Morris  struck  at  once  into 

his  masterpiece,  which  he  called  Sally  Goodin.     My  gra- 

16 


240 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


cious,  how  it  did  go !  You  couldn't  see  the  bow  at  all ;  but 
you  could  hear,  as  well  the  fiddle  as  Morris's  foot  as  he 
kept  time  upon  the  floor.  Betsy  Ann's  feet  rattled  like  the 
rain.  And  she  was — splendid.  That's  all  I  can  say  for 
Betsy  Ann  that  night.  Mr.  Bill  did  elegantly  at  first,  and 
his  heels  shook  the  very  beams  of  the  house.  "Faster!" 
cried  Betsy  Ann;  "why  don't  you  play  up,  Morris?" 
Then,  taking  her  skirts  with  the  tips  of  her  thumbs  and  fore 
fingers  and  lifting  them  slightly,  she  spun  around  twice,  and, 
if  the  eye  alone  could  have  been  trusted,  people  would 
have  said  that  Betsy  Ann  had  a  thousand  feet  and  ankles. 
Mr.  Bill  had  started  out  with  his  shoulders  set  back  and  his 
arms  hanging  easily  behind  him,  but  he  had  gradually  come 
up  straight,  and  afterward  he  leaned  over  in  front.  Hither 
to  his  arms  had  played  an  important  part,  as  they  swung 
back  and  forth  to  help  out  his  legs ;  but  it  was  not  long  be 
fore  they  began  to  hang  heavily  from  his  shoulders,  and 
his  fingers  twitched  as  if  they  were  getting  ashamed  of  the 
probable  result. 

Allen  was  standing  beside  the  wall  holding  his  sister's 
hand,  and  no  other  two  enjoyed  the  contest  as  they  did. 
"  Never  give  it  up,  Bill! "  Allen  cried ;  "  don't  you  see  she 
can't  hold  out  much  longer?  " 

Mr.  Bill  had  never  looked  more  serious.  He  had 
naturally  a  good  ear  for  time,  but  he  got  slower  and  slower, 
making  up  by  coming  down  heavy  on  the  tonic  notes  of 
the  music.  He  looked  at  Betsy  Ann  with  a  fierceness  which 
made  him  seem  as  if  he  felt  that  his  honor  as  a  married 
man  depended  upon  the  result,  and  was  in  danger  of  being 
ruined  at  the  start.  His  lower  jaw  began  now  to  partake 
of  his  general  ponderosity,  and  his  knees  to  give  each  other 
confused  knockings.  Miss  Karline  was  so  full  of  laughter 
that  she  could  say  nothing ;  but,  holding  her  handkerchief 
to  her  mouth  with  one  hand,  she  gave  Allen  a  sign  and  a 


OLD   FRIENDS  AND  NEW. 


241 


push  with  the  other.  Allen  passed  around,  came  up  behind 
him,  and  spread  out  his  arms.  He  gave  a  wink  to  Betsy 
Ann,  who  smiled,  spun  around  again,  and  cried  aloud  to 
the  fiddler,  "Faster!" 

Then  she  flew  up  to  Mr.  Bill  and  seized  his  hands  for 
another  turn,  but  those  hands  were  limber  and  heavy.  As 
she  pulled  them  up,  Mr.  Bill's  balance  was  destroyed,  and 
he  fell  back  into  the  arms  of  Allen.  Shouts  of  laughter 
and  clapping  of  hands  followed.  They  put  the  vanquished 
into  a  chair,  but  he  was  too  exhausted  even  to  laugh,  until 
they  brought  him  a  tumbler  of  syllabub. 

"Ah!  hah!"  he  ejaculated,  "but  hit's  the  fust  time — 
time — ever  I  war — non — pi — plushed  at  that.  Ah!  hah!" 

Allen  assured  him  that  if  he  had  held  out  a  minute  longer 
Betsan  would  a  give  out;  he  had  seed  it  in  her  looks. 
Betsy  Ann  fanned  herself,  and  answered  Allen  by  cutting 
the  pigeon-wing.  Mr.  Bill  looked  up  without  moving  his 
mouth  from  the  tumbler,  gave  a  tired  smile,  shook  his  head, 
and  murmured : 

"  Thnon — thpluthed,  Allen,  thnon — thpluthed." 

The  guests  all  left  at  last,  after  the  shaking  of  hands 
again,  and  the  congratulations,  and  the  wishing  all  sorts 
of  good  things.  Everybody  carried  away  a  great  bundle 
of  cake  which  the  two  brides  insisted  upon  loading  them 
with.  But  the  syllabub  was  not  yet  all  gone.  Allen  made 
Mr.  Bill  take  another  tumbler. 

"  Won't  you  take  one  yourself  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Bill. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Allen,  "  that  is,  ef  I  can't  take  a  chaw, 
but  I  heap  ruther  have  a  chaw." 

Betsy  Ann  shook  her  head,  and  he  took  the  syllabub. 

Mr.  Bill  sipped  his  syllabub,  and  said  it  war  a  beautiful 
skene ;  all  thar  in  the  family  like  together.  It  war  the 
beautifulest  skene  that  ever  was  loed  and  beholded.  He 
could  now  lay  his  hand  on  his  bres1  and  say  that  he  could 


242 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


now  look  ahead  of  him  and  see  'em  all  travelin'  down  to 
gether  on  the  road — 

But  Miss  Karline  took  his  tumbler  and  said  it  was  time 
for  her  and  Betsy  Ann  to  put  up  the  things. 

"  Philip,"  said  Mr.  Bill  to  me,  about  a  week  after  his 
marriage — "  Philip,  my  young  fren,  I  never  knowed  what 
happiness  and  bliss  was  befo'.  And  let  me  give  you  a 
piece  of  advice,  becase  I'm  a  man  of  experence  and  you're 
yit  young.  When  you  git  a  man,  Philip,  and  go  to  git 
married,  you  git  a  settled  'oman ;  take  my  advice,  Philip, 
and  many  a  settled  'oman." 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

THE  winter  had  come  and  gone.  It  had  been  passed  by 
Overton  in  Virginia,  in  arranging  his  matters  there  prepara 
tory  to  his  final  removal  to  Georgia.  Many  a  letter  had 
come  and  gone.  I  must  not  recite  them  here.  Nothing 
is  so  dependent  (for  the  interest  they  excite)  upon  time  and 
other  accidents  as  love-letters.  They  may  well  be  said  to 
be  glorious  things,  but  it  is  in  a  way  the  least  general. 
Every  one  has  a  certain  glory  of  its  own ;  yet  it  is  never 
but  for  one  being ;  it  cannot  be  shed  abroad.  Even  for 
that  one  being  it  passes  away  in  the  lapse  of  time.  The 
missive  comes,  by  trembling  hands  the  seal  is  broken,  and 
the  words  come  into  the  heart  like  the  rain  into  the  thirsty 
earth.  It  dilates  with  ineffable  sweetness.  But  that  sweet 
ness,  just  as  it  is  then,  that  half  stilly,  half  tumultuous  sweet 
ness,  is  gone  even  before  the  second  reading.  When  love's 
course  is  run,  and  finds  its  fruition  in  the  serene  affections 
of  marriage,  who  is  there  that  is  wont  to  go  often  to  the 
casket  that  holds  its  written  history  and  seeks  to  bring  back 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW. 


243 


the  feelings  which  its  first  inditing  inspired?  They  come 
no  more ;  no  more  than  youth  comes  again  to  age.  The 
casket  and  its  ancient  records  are  dutifully  and  reverently 
preserved  in  some  secret  and  sacred  archive.  We  may  oc 
casionally  open  and  read  awhile,  as  we  curiously  look  over 
a  relic  of  olden  literature ;  but  as  in  the  one  so  in  the  other, 
we  smile  at  what  sounds  as  the  quaint  language  of  a  time 
that  is  long  past.  One  keeps  such  records  as  the  contem 
poraneous  history  of  a  state  which,  though  happy,  was  not 
more  so  than  the  present,  perhaps  not  so  much  so,  yet  more 
ecstatic  in  the  short  periods  of  its  ecstasy ;  but  one  sighs  as 
well  as  smiles  to  feel  that,  for  the  purposes  of  their  ancient 
uses,  they  are  now  obsolete,  like  music  past : 

"  'Twas  sweet,  'twas  passing  sweet, 
But  now  'tis  gone  away." 

The  spring  was  opening,  and  it  was  in  the  evening  of  a 
bright  day.  Lucy  Parkinson  took  her  usual  walk  to  the 
graveyard.  It  was  on  the  roadside,  prettily  situated  in  the 
edge  of  the  woods.  It  was  inclosed  by  a  fence  of  upright 
boards  and  hedged  with  cedar.  There  were  several  ever 
green  trees  and  willows  on  the  corners  of  the  walks.  Under 
one  of  these  Lucy  sat  upon  a  rustic  bench.  She  wore  a 
white  muslin  robe,  which  was  confined  at  her  waist  by  a 
belt  of  black  ribbon.  In  her  hair  there  were  some  violets 
and  white  jasmines.  Her  broad  hat  lay  in  her  lap,  and  her 
hands  toyed  with  its  ribbons  as  she  sat  there  so  thoughtful. 

How  various  must  be  the  thoughts  of  a  pure-minded 
young  woman  as  she  approaches  the  time  when  she  must 
give  herself  away  to  the  man  of  her  choice!  How  ready, 
yet  how  reluctant!  Who  can  tell  her  what  that  mysterious 
estate  may  bring  along  with  it  to  her?  It  is  sweet  to  love 
and  to  be  loved  as  now :  will  it  be  more  so  when  her  life 
is  merged  into  another's? 


244 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


There  was  sadness  upon  her  brow,  but  it  was  the  sadness 
of  a  true  heart,  which,  in  its  modest  estimate  of  its  own 
strength,  was  thinking  upon  the  serious  destinies  of  that 
career  to  which  she  was  fast  tending,  and  upon  which  she 
so  desired,  yet  so  feared,  to  enter.  She  had  placed  her  arm 
upon  the  back  of  the  bench,  and  her  head  rested  upon  her 
open  hand.  The  latch  of  the  little  gate  was  gently  lifted. 
She  raised  her  eyes  and  saw  Overton. 

How  amply  that  reunion  repaid  them  for  their  long 
separation !  How  free  from  doubt  and  from  fear  was  now 
that  loving  girl  as  she  clung  to  the  bosom  of  her  affianced, 
and  could  not  speak,  but  only  look,  and  languish,  and  weep. 
Long  they  sat  there  together.  When  they  rose  to  go,  Lucy 
paused  at  Jack's  grave,  and  other  tears  were  in  her  eyes. 

"  He  is  not  here,"  said  Overton — "  he  is  not  here,  but  is 
risen." 

Two  weeks  from  that  day  they  were  married.  None 
were  present  besides  the  family,  except  Mr.  Sanford,  Mrs. 
Glisson  and  Brinkly. 

"  This  son  will  take  the  other  one's  place  now,"  said  the 
widow  to  Mrs.  Parkinson.  And  they  both  wept,  but  smiled 
through  their  tears. 


THE  EXPENSIVE  TREAT  OF  COLONEL 
MOSES  GRICE. 


"  It's  hardly  in  a  body's  power 
To  keep  at  times  frae  being  sour, 
To  see  how  things  are  shar'd." — Bums. 


CHAPTER    I. 

BESIDES  an  incipient  ventriloquist  who  had  included  it 
in  a  limited  provincial  tour  which  he  was  making  in  some 
hope  of  larger  development  of  his  artistic  powers,  the  only 
show  that  had  visited  Dukesborough  thus  far  was  the  wax 
figures.  The  recollection  of  that  had  ever  been  unsatisfac 
tory.  I  can  just  remember  that  one  of  the  figures  was 
William  Pitt,  and  another  the  Sleeping  Beauty;  that  the 
former  was  the  saddest  and  yellowest  great  statesman  that 
I  had  had  opportunity,  thus  far,  to  look  upon,  and  the 
latter — well,  it  is  not  pleasant,  even  now,  to  recall  how 
dead,  how  long  time  dead,  she  appeared.  When  Aggy, 
my  attendant,  seeing  me  appalled  at  the  sight,  repeatedly 
asseverated,  "  De  lady  is  jes'  a-tired  and  a-takin'  of  a  nap," 
I  cried  the  louder,  and  plucked  so  at  Aggy  that  she  had  to 
take  me  away.  Though  not  thus  demonstrative,  yet  even 
elderly  country  people  acknowledged  to  disappointment, 
and  there  was  a  general  complaint  that  if  what  had  been 
was  the  best  that  could  be  done  by  Dukesborough  in  the 


246  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

way  of  public  entertainment,  it  might  as  well  take  itself 
away  from  the  great  highway  of  human  travel,  suspend  its 
school,  sell  out  its  two  stores  at  cost,  abolish  its  tavern  and 
post-office,  tear  down  its  blacksmith's  and  shoe  shops, 
and,  leaving  only  its  meeting-house,  resolve  itself  into  the 
elements  from  which  it  had  been  aggregated.  Not  that 
these  were  the  very  words ;  but  surely  their  full  equivalents 
were  employed  when  William  Pitt,  the  Sleeping  Beauty? 
and  their  pale  associates  had  silently  left  the  town. 

As  for  a  circus,  such  an  institution  was  not  known,  except 
by  hearsay,  even  to  Colonel  Moses  Grice,  of  the  Fourteenth 
Regiment  Georgia  Militia,  though  he  was  a  man  thirty- 
five  years  old,  over  six  feet  high,  of  proportional  weight, 
owned  a  good  plantation  with  about  twenty  negroes,  and 
had  seen  the  theater  as  many  as  three  times  in  the  city  of 
Augusta.  The  ideas  the  colonel  received  there  were  such, 
he  said,  as  would  last  him  to  the  end  of  his  days — a  period 
believed  to  be  remote,  barring,  of  course,  all  contingencies 
of  future  wars.  To  this  theatrical  experience,  however,  he 
had  been  desirous,  for  some  time,  to  add  that  of  the  circus, 
assured  in  his  mind,  that,  from  what  he  had  heard,  it  was 
a  good  thing.  It  happened  once,  while  on  a  visit  to  Au 
gusta,  whither  he  had  accompanied  a  wagon-load  of  his 
cotton,  that  he  met  at  Collier's  tavern,  where  he  sojourned, 
a  circus  forerunner,  who  was  going  the  rounds  with  his  ad 
vertisements.  Getting  soon  upon  terms  of  intimacy  with 
one  who  seemed  to  him  the  most  agreeable,  entertaining, 
and  intelligent  gentleman  that  he  had  ever  met,  Colonel 
Grice  imparted  to  him  such  information  about  Dukesbor- 
ough  that,  although  that  village  was  not  upon  the  list  of 
appointments — Dukesborough,  in  point  of  fact  (to  his 
shame  the  agent  confessed  it),  not  having  been  even  heard 
of — yet  a  day  was  set  for  its  visitation,  and,  when  visited, 
another  was  set  for  the  appearance  there  of  the  Great 


COLONEL   MOSES  GRICE. 


247 


World-renowned  Circus,  which  claimed  for  its  special 
homes  London,  Paris,  and  New  York. 

It  would  be  entertaining  to  a  survivor  of  that  period  to 
make  even  small  boys,  from  families  of  most  limited  means 
in  this  generation,  comprehend  the  interest  excited  by  those 
advertisements,  in  huge  black  and  red  letters,  that  were 
tacked  upon  the  wall  of  Spouter's  tavern.  From  across 
Beaver  Dam,  Shoulderbone,  Fulsom's,  the  Ogeechee,  from 
even  the  head-waters  of  streams  leading  to  the  Oconee, 
they  came  to  read  over  and  spell  over  the  mighty  words. 
Colonel  Grice,  who  had  been  found,  upon  his  own  frank 
admission,  to  be  the  main  mover,  was  glad  to  answer  all 
inquiries  concerning  its  magnitude,  its  possible  influences 
upon  the  future  of  Dukesborough,  and  kindred  subjects. 
There  would  have  been  a  slight  drawback  to  the  general 
eager  expectation  on  grounds  moral  and  religious ;  but  the 
World-renowned  had  anticipated  and  provided  against  that, 
as  will  hereafter  appear.  Then  Colonel  Grice  had  signified 
his  intention  of  meeting  the  impending  institution  on  the 
occasion  of  at  least  two  of  its  exhibitions  before  its  arrival, 
and  he  should  take  it  upon  himself  to  warn  it  of  the  kind  of 
people  it  was  coming  among. 

The  colonel  resided  five  miles  south  of  the  village.  He 
had  a  wife,  but  no  child  (a  point  on  which  he  was,  perhaps, 
a  little  sore),  was  not  in  debt,  was  hospitable,  an  en- 
courager  (especially  in  words),  of  public  and  private  enter 
prises,  and  enthusiastically  devoted,  though  without  experi 
ence  in  wars,  to  the  military  profession,  which — if  he  might 
use  the  expression — he  would  call  his  second  wife.  Off 
the  muster-field  he  habitually  practiced  that  affability  which 
is  pleasant  because  so  rare  to  see  in  the  warrior  class. 
When  in  full  uniform  and  at  the  head  of  the  regiment,  with 
girt  sword  and  pistol-holster,  he  did  indeed  look  like  a  man 
not  to  be  fooled  with ;  and  the  sound  of  his  voice  in  utter- 


248  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

ance  of  military  orders  was  such  as  to  show  that  he  intended 
those  orders  to  be  heard  and  obeyed.  When  the  regiment 
was  disbanded,  the  sternness  would  depart  from  his  mien, 
and,  though  yet  unstripped  of  weapons  and  regalia,  he 
would  smile  blandly,  as  if  to  reassure  spectators  that,  for 
the  present,  the  danger  was  over,  and  persons  might  ap 
proach  without  apprehension. 

He  met  the  circus  even  farther  away  than  he  at  first  had 
intended.  He  had  determined  to  study  it,  he  said,  and  he 
traveled  in  all  some  seventy  miles  on  horseback,  attending 
daily  and  nightly  exhibitions.  Several  times  during  this 
travel  and  afterward,  on  the  forenoon  of  the  great  day  in 
Dukesborough,  he  was  heard  to  say  that,  if  he  were  limited 
to  one  word  with  which  to  describe  what  he  had  seen,  that 
word  would  be — gorgerous.  "  As  for  what  sort  of  a  people 
them  circus  people  are,"  he  said,  "  in  a  moral  and  in  a  re 
ligious  sense,  now — ahem !  you  know,  gentlemen  and  ladies^ 
especially  ladies — ah,  ha!  I'm  not  a  member,  but  I'm  as 
great  a  respecter  of  religion  as  can  be  found  in  the  whole 
State  of  Georgy.  Bein'  raised  to  that,  I  pride  myself  on 
that.  Now  these  circus  people,  they  ain't  what  I  should 
call  a  highly  moral,  that  is,  they  ain't  a  strictly  religions 
people.  You  see,  gentlemen,  that  ain't,  not  religion  ain't, 
so  to  speak,  their  business.  They  ain't  goin'  about  preach- 
in',  and  havin'  camp-meetin'  revivals,  and  givin'  singin'- 
school  lessons.  They  are — I  wish  I  could  explain  myself 
about  these  circus  people.  These  circus  people  are  a-tryin' 
— you  know,  gentlemen,  different  people  makes  their  livin* 
in  different  ways ;  and  these  circus  people  are  jes'  a-tryin' 
to  do  exactly  the  same  thing  in  jes'  exactly  the  same  way. 
Well,  gentlemen,  gorgerous  is  the  word  I  should  say  about 
their  performances.  I  should  not  confine  myself  to  the 
word  religion.  Strictly  speakin',  that  word  do  not  embrace 
all  the  warious  warieties,  so  to  speak,  of  a  circus.  My  word 


COLONEL   MOSES  GRICE. 


249 


would  be  GORGEROUS  ;  and  I  think  that's  the  word  you  all 
will  use  when  that  tent  is  up,  that  door  is  open,  and  you  are 
rushin'  into  its — its — I  don't  know  whether  to  use  the  word 
jaws  or  departments.  But,  for  the  sake  of  decency,  I'll 
say — departments.  As  for  moral  and  religious,  gentlemen 
— and  'specially,  ladies — I  tell  you,  it  ain't  neither  a  camp- 
meetin',  a  'sociation,  a  quarterly  meetin',  nor  a  singin'-school. 
I'm  not  a  member,  but  I'm  a  respecter ;  and  as  to  all  that, 
and  all  them,  Dukesborough  may  go  further  and  fare  worse. 
That's  all  I  got  to  say." 

On  the  day  before,  Colonel  Grice,  by  this  time  grown  in 
timate  with  the  manager,  and  as  fond  of  him  as  if  he  had 
been  his  own  brother  (some  said  even  fonder),  in  the  full 
ness  of  his  heart  had  invited  the  whole  force  to  breakfast 
with  him  on  the  way  to  Dukesborough,  and  the  invitation 
had  been  accepted.  What  was  consumed  was  enormous ; 
but  he  could  afford  it,  and  his  wife,  especially  with  distin 
guished  visitors,  was  as  hospitable  and  open-hearted  as 
himself. 


CHAPTER   II. 

OTHER  persons  besides  boys  believed  in  their  hearts  that 
they  might  not  have  been  able  to  endure  another  day's  de 
lay  of  the  show.  For  a  brief  period  the  anxiety  of  school 
children  amounted  to  anguish  when  the  master  expressed 
doubts  as  to  a  holiday ;  for  holidays  then  were  infrequent, 
and  schoolmasters  had  to  be  over-persuaded.  But  the 
present  incumbent  yielded  early,  with  becoming  reluctance, 
to  what  seemed  to  be  the  general  desire.  The  eagerly  ex 
pected  morning  came  at  last.  Many  who  knew  that  the 
circus  was  lingering  at  Colonel  Grice's  went  forth  to  meet 
it,  some  on  foot,  some  on  horseback.  Some  started  even  in 


250  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

gigs  and  other  carriages,  but,  being  warned  by  old  people, 
turned,  unhooked  their  horses,  and  hitched  them  to  swing 
ing  limbs  in  the  very  farthest  part  of  the  graveyard  grove, 
and  then  set  out  on  foot.  The  great  show  had  put  fore 
most  its  best  wagon,  but  nobody  had  any  sort  of  idea  what 
things  those  were  which  the  military  gentlemen  who  rode 
in  it  carried  in  their  hands.  One  person,  known  generally 
to  carry  a  cool  head,  said  that  one  of  these  things  looked 
to  him  like  a  drum,  though  of  a  size  comparatively  enor 
mous,  but  the  idea  was  generally  scorned. 

"Where  you  goin'  there,  Poll  Ann?"  said  Mrs.  Watts 
to  her  little  daughter,  who  was  opening  the  gate.  "  My 
Lord ! "  exclaimed  the  mother  instantly  afterward,  as  the 
band  struck  up.  Then  she  rushed  out  herself  and  ran  over 
Polly  Ann,  knocking  her  down.  Polly  Ann  got  up  again 
and  followed.  "Stay  behind  there,  you,  Jack,  and  you, 
Susan !  You  want  to  git  eat  up  by  them  camels  and  var 
mints?  I  never  see  sich  children  for  cur'osity.  They've 
got  as  much  cur'osity  as — as — " 

"  As  we  have,"  said  Mrs.  Thompson,  laughing,  as  she  at 
tempted  in  vain  to  drive  back  her  own  little  brood. 

The  effect  of  the  music  in  the  long,  covered  wagon, 
drawn  by  six  gray  horses  slowly  before  the  long  procession, 
no  words  can  describe.  It  put  all,  the  aged  and  the  young, 
into  a  tremor.  Old  Mr.  Leadbetter,  one  of  the  deacons, 
who  had  been  very  "  jubous,"  as  he  said,  about  the  whole 
thing,  was  trying  to  read  a  chapter  somewhere  in  Romans, 
when,  at  the  very  first  blast,  his  spectacles  jumped  off  his 
nose,  and  he  told  a  few  of  the  brethren  afterward,  confi 
dentially,  that  he  never  could  recollect,  afterward,  where 
he  had  left  off.  As  for  Mrs.  Bland,  she  actually  danced 
in  her  piazza,  for,  probably,  as  many  as  a  dozen  bars,  and, 
when  "  had  up  "  in  church  about  it,  pleaded  in  abatement 
that  she  did  it  entirely  unbeknownst  to  herself,  and  that  she 


COLONEL   MOSES   GRICE. 


251 


couldn't  have  holp  it  if  it  had  been  to  save  her  life.  It 
might  have  gone  hard  with  the  defendant  had  not  some  of 
her  triers  been  known  to  march  in  time  to  the  band,  and,  be- 
^sides,  they  had  stayed  after  the  close  of  the  animal  show, 
contrary  to  the  special  inhibition  against  the  circus.  For 
the  World-renowned  had  provided  against  the  scruples  of 
the  straitest  sects  by  attaching  to  itself  a  small  menagerie  of 
animals,  whose  exhibition  had  been  appointed  for  the  open 
ing.  There  were  a  camel,  a  lion,  a  zebra,  a  hyena,  two 
leopards,  a  porcupine,  six  monkeys,  a  bald  eagle,  and  some 
parrots.  By  some  means,  never  fully  known,  the  most 
scrupulous  of  the  spectators  had  gotten  (late  during  this 
first  act)  to  the  very  loftiest  and  remotest  seats  in  the  am 
phitheater,  and  when  the  animals  were  shut  from  the  view, 
these  persons,  though  anxious,  were  unable  to  retire  with 
out  stepping  over  the  shoulders  of  those  beneath — a  thing 
that  no  decent  person  could  be  expected  to  do.  So  Mrs. 
Bland  got  off  with  a  mild  rebuke. 

As  the  cavalcade  proceeded,  it  was  a  sight  to  see  those 
who  came  in  late  in  vehicles  hastily  turning  in,  apprehen 
sive  of  the  effect  upon  their  horses  of  the  music  and  the 
smell  of  the  wild  animals.  For  the  first  and  only  time  in 
the  history  of  Dukesborough  there  was  momentary  danger 
of  a  blockade  of  wheels  in  its  one  street. 

"  A  leetle  more,"  said  old  Tony  to  the  other  negroes  at 
home  that  night — he  was  the  driver  of  the  Booker  car 
riage — "a  leetle  more,  and  I'd  a  driv'  right  inter  the 
camel's  mouth." 

For  some  reason,  possibly  its  vast  size  and  the  peculiar 
dip  of  its  under-lip  in  the  pictures,  the  camel  seemed  to  be 
regarded  as  the  most  carnivorous  of  the  wild  beasts,  and 
especially  fond  of  human  flesh. 

The  place  selected  for  the  tent  was  the  area  west  of 
Sweep's  shoe-shop,  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  on  which  the 


252 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


Basil  mansion  stood.  When  the  door  was  opened  at  last, 
the  crowd  surged  in.  Colonel  Grice  waited  long,  in  order 
to  see  that  no  one  of  any  condition  was  excluded  for  want 
of  the  entrance-fee.  For  at  last  this  was  regarded  by  him 
rather  as  a  treat  of  his  own  to  his  neighbors,  and  he  wanted 
it  to  be  complete.  Then  he  walked  in  with  the  deliberate- 
ness  of  an  owner  of  the  establishment,  and  contemplated 
everything  with  benignant  complaisance.  Those  ladies  and 
gentlemen  who  were  within  the  sound  of  his  voice,  as  he 
went  the  rounds  of  the  boxes  containing  the  animals,  were 
fortunate. 

"  Be  keerful  there,  boys — be  keerful,"  he  said  kindly  but 
seriously  to  some  little  fellows  who  were  leaning  against  the 
rope  and  studying  the  porcupine.  "Be  keerful.  That's 
the  cilibrated  pockapine.  You  see  them  sharp  things  on 
him?  Well,  them's  his  quills,  and  which,  wen  he's  mad,  he 
shoots  'em  like  a  bow-'narrow,  and  they  goes  clean  through 
people." 

The  boys  backed,  although  the  little  creature  looked  as 
if  his  quiver  had  been  well-nigh  exhausted  in  previous  wars. 

"  That's  the  hyner,"  said  the  colonel,  moving  on,  "  and 
they  say  he's  the  most  rhinocerous  varmint  of  "em  all.  Of 
all  victuals  he  loves  folks  the  best,  though  he  some  rather 
that  somebody  or  something  else  would  kill  'em,  and  then 
him  come  on  about  a  week  or  sich  a  matter  arfterward. 
They  scratches  up  graveyards,  and  in  the  countries  where 
they  raise,  people  has  to  bury  their  kinfolks  in  stone 
coffins." 

"  Oh,  goodness  gracious,  colonel!      Let's  go  on!" 

This  exclamation  was  made  by  Miss  Angeline  Spouter, 
the  thinnest  of  the  party,  who  was  locked  arm  in  arm  with 
Miss  Georgiana  Pea,  the  thickest. 

"  No  danger,  Miss  Angeline — no  danger  at  all,"  an 
swered  the  colonel,  briskly  raising  his  arm  aloft  that  all 


COLONEL   MOSES  GRICE. 


253 


might  see  what  was  between  them  and  the  beast,  at  which 
he  looked  as  if  it  were  his  own  pet  hyena  and  would  not 
think  of  leaving  its  lair  without  his  order.  "  No  danger 
whatsomever.  Even  if  he  could  git  out,  he'd  have  to  ride 
over  me,  and,  besides,  it's  mostly  corpses  that  he'd  be 
arfter,  and — ah — I  don't  think,  anyway,  that  you'd  be  in 
the  slightest  danger." 

As  he  said  this,  the  colonel  looked  rather  argumenta- 
tively,  and  at  Miss  Pea  more  than  Miss  Spouter. 

"  Oh,"  said  Miss  Pea  gayly,  "  if  the  creetur  could  git 
out,  and  then  took  a  notion  for  live  folks,  I'd  be  the  one 
he'd  make  for,  certain  sure." 

The  hyena,  though  ugly  and  ferocious,  did  not  look  at  his 
spectators  once,  but  continued  pacing  up  and  down  in  his 
narrow  cage,  at  either  end  of  which,  when  reaching  it,  he 
thrust  his  snout  against  the  roof,  as  if  his  thoughts  were 
tending  upward  rather  than  downward.  I  have  never 
forgotten  how  unhappy  seemed  that  poor  beast,  To  all 
the  other  animals  there  was  some  relief  of  captivity  in  their 
various  degrees  of  domestication  and  affiliation  with  man. 
The  lion  evidently  loved  his  keeper;  even  the  leopards 
seemed  rather  fond  of  him.  But  the  hyena,  more  narrowly 
caged  than  all,  conquered,  not  subdued,  wholly  untamed, 
constantly  rolling  his  fiery  gray  eyes,  appeared  to  have  his 
thoughts  ever  upon  revenge  and  escape  to  his  native  wilds. 
I,  a  young  child,  could  not  but  pity  him ;  and  it  occurred 
to  me  then  that  if  ever  he  should  become  free,  and  be 
tempted,  at  least,  to  an  appetizer  of  living  human  flesh  be 
fore  reaching  the  graveyard,  he  most  likely  would  fasten 
upon  the  manager  of  the  Great  World-renowned. 

Just  as  the  party  was  about  to  pass  on,  the  wretched 
beast,  stopping  for  a  moment,  his  snout  pressed  to  the 
roof,  uttered  several  short,  loud,  hoarse,  terrific  howls. 
Miss  Spouter  screamed,  Miss  Pea  laughed  hysterically, 


254 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


and  Colonel  Grice,  before  he  knew  it,  was  on  the  outside 
of  his  knot  of  followers.  Recovering  himself — for  he  was 
without  his  sword  and  pistol-holster — he  stepped  quickly 
back  to  the  front,  looked  threateningly,  and  afterward  dis 
dainfully,  at  the  hyena,  who  had  resumed  his  walks,  and 
said: 

"  You  rhinocerous  varmint,  you !  Thinkin'  of  them  grave 
yards  you've  robbed,  and  hungry  for  some  more  of  'em, 
ah!  These  is  live  folks,  my  boy;  and  they  ain't  quite 
ready  for  you  yit,  nor  won't  be  for  some  time,  I  hope." 
Then  he  led  on  to  the  monkeys. 


CHAPTER    III. 

"  HELLO,  Bill!  I  knowed  you'd  be  here ;  got  your  boys 
with  you,  too,  I  see." 

The  person  addressed  by  Colonel  Grice  was  a  tall,  stout 
young  farmer.  Over  his  other  clothes  he  wore  a  loosely 
fitting  round  jacket,  of  thick,  home-made  stuff,  with  capa 
cious  pockets.  In  each  of  these  were  one  foot  and  a  con 
siderable  portion  of  a  leg  of  a  child  about  two  years  old. 
Their  other  feet  rested  easily  in  the  man's  hands,  which 
were  tucked  up  for  that  purpose,  while  one  arm  of  each 
was  around  his  neck.  The  children  were  exactly  alike,  ex 
cept  a  shade's  difference  in  the  color  of  their  eyes.  This 
was  Mr.  Bill  Williams,  who,  three  years  before,  had  been 
married  to  Miss  Caroline  Thigpen.  At  this  double  birth, 
Mr.  Williams  was  proud  and  even  exultant.  Out  of  the 
many  names  suggested  for  the  twins,  he  early  selected 
those  of  the  renowned  offspring  of  Mars  and  Rhea  Sylvia. 
Modifying  them,  however,  somewhat  for  his  own  reasons, 
he  called  and  so  wrote  them  in  his  Bible,  "  Romerlus  "  and 
"  Remerlus." 


COLONEL   MOSES   GRICE. 


255 


"Remus,  Mr.  Bill,"  urged  the  friend  who  had  suggested 
the  names.  "  Remus,  not  Remulus :  Romulus  and  Remus 
are  the  names." 

"  No,  Philip,"  he  answered,  "  it's  Romerlus  and  Remer- 
lus.  One's  jest  as  old  as  t'other,  or  nigh  and  about ;  and 
he's  as  big,  and  he's  as  good-lookin',  and  his  brother's  name 
shan't  be  no  bigger'n  hisn." 

As  soon  as  they  were  able  to  stand  without  harm,  he  ac 
customed  them  to  this  mode  of  travel,  and  he  was  never 
so  contented  as  when  he  and  they  went  out  thus  together. 

"  I  knowed  you'd  be  here,  Bill,  and  your  boys." 

"  Yes,  kurnel,  I  thought  comin'  to  see  the  beastesses  and 
varmints  might  sort  o'  be  a  start  to  'em  in  jography.  You, 
Rom — you,  Reme,  you  needn't  squeeze  me  so  tight.  They 
ain't  no  danger  in  them  things." 

The  children,  plucky  for  their  age,  and  with  considerable 
experience  in  travel,  had  gone  easily  enough  thus  far ;  but 
when  they  looked  upon  these  creatures,  so  like,  yet  so  un 
like,  mankind,  they  shrank  from  the  view,  and  clung  closely 
to  their  father.  Colonel  Grice,  recovered  from  the  em 
barrassment  occasioned  by  the  hyena,  was  pleased  at  the 
apprehension  of  the  twins. 

"  Natchel,  Bill,  perfec'ly  natchel.  You  know  some  folks 
says  monkeys  is  kin  to  us,  and  the  boys,  mebbe,  don't  like 
the  looks  of  their  relations." 

"  They  ain't  no  kin  o'  mine,  kurnel,  nor  theirn,"  answered 
Mr.  Bill.  "  Ef  you  think  they're  humans,  supposin'  you — 
as  you  hain't  no  children  of  your  own — supposin'  you  adop' 
one  of  'em?  " 

Mr.  Bill  suspected  that  he  might  be  alluding  to  the  fabled 
she-wolf.  The  colonel,  however,  had  never  heard  of  the 
distinguished  originals  of  Roman  story.  His  remark  was  a 
mere  jeu  d'esprit,  springing  naturally  from  the  numerous 
sources  of  satisfaction  of  the  occasion. 
17 


256  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE  wild  beasts  were  finally  hidden  from  view,  and  all 
repaired  to  their  seats.  Colonel  Grice  sat  high,  and  near 
the  entrance  of  the  rear  tent  from  which  the  circus  per 
formers  were  to  emerge.  Mr.  Williams  sat  on  the  lowest 
tier,  near  the  main  entrance.  He  had  taken  his  boys  out 
of  his  pockets  and  held  them  on  his  knees.  The  colonel, 
when  he  could  get  an  opportunity,  quietly,  and  in  a  very 
pleasant  way,  called  the  ringmaster's  attention  to  him,  who 
smiled  and  nodded.  Then  the  curtain  was  pushed  aside 
from  the  rear  tent,  the  band  struck  up,  and  the  piebald 
horses  came  marching  in  with  their  silent  riders,  who,  at 
first,  looked  as  if  they  had  just  come  from  the  bath,  and 
had  had  time  for  only  a  limited  toilet.  Old  Miss  Sally 
Cash,  cousin  and  close  neighbor  of  Colonel  Grice,  ex 
claimed  : 

"  Lor'-a-mercy,  Mose!  Them  ain't  folks,  is  they? 
Them's  wax  figgers,  ain't  they?  " 

"  I  assure  you,  Cousin  Sally,  that  they're  folks,"  answered 
the  colonel,  with  marked  candor.  He  had  great  respect 
for  his  cousin  Sally,  and  some  awe. 

"  I  thought  they  was  wax  figgers,  sot  on  springs.  They 
ain't  like  no  folks  that  I've  ever  saw,  and  I've  saw  a  good 
many  people  in  my  time,  both  here  and  in  Augusty."  It 
was  one  of  Miss  Cash's  boasts,  which  few  countrywomen 
of  that  generation  could  make,  that  she  had  once  been  to 
that  famous  city.  After  a  short  interval,  she  added :  "  I 
b'lieve  yit  they're  wax  figgers." 

At  that  moment  the  clown,  all  spotted  and  streaked, 
bringing  up  the  rear,  shouted : 

"  Here  we  all  are,  my  masters," 


COLONEL   MOSES   GRICE. 


257 


"  My  Lord-a'mighty ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Cash  and  some 
three  hundred  other  females.  Only  Colonel  Grice,  and  a 
very  few  others,  who  had  been  at  yesterday's  exhibition, 
could  preserve  any  amount  of  coolness.  The  rest  aban 
doned  themselves  to  unlimited  wonder. 

"  I'm  sixty-nine  years  old,"  said  old  Mr.  Pate,  "  and  I 
never  see  sich  as  that  before,  and  I  never  'spected  to  see 
sich  as  that." 

As  they  made  their  involutions  and  evolutions,  destined, 
apparently,  to  be  endless  in  number  and  variety,  the  old 
man  looked  on  as  if  in  his  age  he  was  vouchsafed  the  wit 
ness  of  the  very  last  and  highest  achievement  of  human 
endeavor. 

"  Do  you  think  that's  decent,  Mose?  "  asked  Miss  Cash. 
The  performers  were  then  in  the  act  of  the  "  ground  and 
lofty  tumbling,"  turning  somersaults  forward,  backward, 
over  one  another,  lying  on  their  backs,  throwing  up  their 
legs,  and  springing  to  their  feet,  etc.,  until  they  were  pant 
ing  and  blue  in  the  face. 

"  I  shouldn't  say  it  was  ^/decent,  Cousin  Sally." 

"  I  don't  say  it  is,"  said  Miss  Cash. 

"  You  know,"  said  the  colonel,  winking  slyly  to  his  wife, 
and  other  friends  of  both  sexes,  "  nobody  is  obleeged  to  stay 
and  see  the  show.  Anybody  can  go  that  wants  to.  They 
ain't  no  law  agin  goin',  if  anybody's  desires  is  to  git  away." 

"  No,"  answered  Miss  Cash,  downright.  "  I've  paid  my 
half  a  dollar,  and  they  sha'n't  cheat  me  out  of  it,  nor  nary 
part  of  it." 

The  next  scene  was  one  which  Colonel  Grice  had 
eagerly  anticipated.  A  steed  rushed  into  the  ring.  He 
was  as  wild,  apparently,  as  Mazeppa's,  and  the  clown, 
when  the  ring-master  inquired  for  the  rider,  answered,  in  a 
pitiful  tone,  that  he  was  sick,  and  none  other  of  the  troupe 
would  dare  to  take  his  place.  Then  followed  the  usual  fun 


258  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

of  the  master  ordering  the  clown  to  ride  the  horse,  and 
the  clown,  after  vain  remonstrance,  trying  to  catch  the 
horse,  and  the  horse  refusing  to  be  caught ;  and,  finally,  the 
giving  up  the  chase,  and  the  master  lashing  the  recusant 
beast  around  the  ring,  and  wishing  in  vain  for  a  rider  to  set 
him  off  properly.  In  the  midst  of  this  an  extremely  drunken 
young  man,  homely  clad,  came  through  the  main  entrance, 
after  a  dispute  and  a  scuffle  with  the  door-keeper,  and,  stag 
gering  to  where  Mr.  Bill  Williams  sat,  looked  down  upon  him. 

"  Two  babies.     One  (hie)  yours,  s'pose." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Bill. 

"  And  (hie)  t'other—" 

"  My  wife's ;  but  that  ain't  nobody's  business  but  ourn. 
You  pass  on." 

The  stranger  declined,  and  fixing  his  muddled  attention 
on  what  was  going  on  in  the  ring,  said : 

"  I  can  (hie)  ride  that  horse — " 

The  words  were  no  sooner  uttered  than  the  man 
stumbled  upon  the  track,  just  after  the  horse  had  dashed 
past.  The  whole  audience,  except  Colonel  Grice  and  the 
select  few,  rose  and  cried  out  in  horror. 

"  Take  him  out,  Bill !  Take  him  out !  "  cried  Colonel 
Grice.  Indeed,  Mr.  Bill  had  already  slid  his  babies  into 
his  wife's  lap,  and  was  dragging  the  man  out  of  the  ring. 

He  insisted  upon  returning. 

"  Look  a-here,  my  friend,"  said  Mr.  Bill,  "  I  don't  know 
you,  nor  nobody  else  don't  seem  to  know  you ;  but  if  I 
didn't  have  Rom  and  Reme — " 

The  fellow  made  another  rush.  Mr.  Bill  took  hold  of 
him,  but,  receiving  a  trip,  he  fell  flat,  and  the  stranger 
sprawled  into  the  ring,  rolling  out  of  the  track  in  lucky 
time.  The  ring-master  seemed  much  embarrassed. 

"  Oh,  give  him  a  little  ride,  captain !  "  cried  out  Colonel 
Grice.  "  If  he  falls,  he's  too  drunk  to  git  badly  hurt." 


COLONEL   MOSES  GRICE. 


259 


"It's  a  shame,  Mose!  "  remonstrated  Miss  Cash.  "I 
didn't  come  here  and  pay  my  money  to  see  people  killed. 
Notwithstandin'  and  never  o'-the-less  the  poor  creeter's 
drunk,  and  not  hardly  fitten  to  live,  he  ought  by  good  rights 
to  have  some  time  to  prepar'  for  the  awful  change  that — " 

But  by  this  time  Mazeppa  was  mounted  and  dashing 
away ;  and,  but  that  Miss  Cash  had  made  up  her  mind  not 
to  be  cheated  out  of  any  portion  of  her  money,  she  would 
have  shut  her  eyes,  or  veiled  her  face,  as  the  maddened 
animal  sped  along,  while  the  infatuated  inebriate  clung  to 
his  mane.  An  anxious  time  it  was.  Kind-hearted  people 
were  sorry  they  had  come.  In  the  struggle  between  life 
and  death,  the  stranger  seemed  to  be  beginning  to  sober. 
Sooner  than  could  have  been  expected,  he  raised  himself 
from  the  horse's  neck  (Miss  Cash  twisting  her  mouth  and 
screwing  her  neck  as  he  reeled  back  and  forth  from  side  to 
side),  gathered  up  the  reins,  shook  from  his  feet  the  thick 
shoes  he  was  clad  with,  flung  aside  his  old  hat,  brushed  up 
his  curly  hair,  and,  before  Miss  Cash  could  utter  a  word, 
was  on  his  feet.  Then  began  that  prolonged  metamorpho 
sis  which  old  Mr.  Pate  was  never  satisfied  with  recount 
ing,  whether  to  those  who  saw  it  or  those  who  saw  it  not. 

"  Coat  arfter  coat,  breeches  arfter  breeches,  gallis  arfter 
gallis,  shirt  after  shirt,  ontwell  he  shucked  hisself  nigh  as 
clean  as  a  ear  o'  corn." 

When  everybody  saw  that  the  stranger  was  one  of  the 
showmen,  the  fun  rose  to  a  height  that  delayed  for  full  five 
minutes  the  next  scene.  As  for  Colonel  Grice,  his  hand 
kerchief  was  positively  wet  with  the  tears  he  shed.  Even 
Mr.  Bill  forgot  his  own  discomfiture  in  the  universal  glee. 

"  It's  a  shame,  Mose,"  said  Miss  Cash,  "  to  put  such  a 
trick  on  Bill  Williams,  and  that  right  where  his  wife  is.  It 
would  be  a  good  thing  if  he  could  put  it  back  on  you." 

Even  at  this  late  day,  a  survivor  of  that  period  can 


26o  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

scarcely  recall  without  some  exaltation  of  feeling  that  young 
girl  of  eleven  (who  had  been  advertised  as  "  Mademoiselle 
Louise,  the  Most  Celebrated  Equestrienne  in  the  World  "), 
as  she  ran  out  with  the  daintiest  of  frocks,  the  pinkest  of 
stockings,  the  goldenest  of  flounces,  the  bluest  of  belts,  the 
curliest  of  hair,  the  peach  iest  of  cheeks,  kissed  her  hand  to 
the  audience,  put  one  foot  into  the  clown's  hand,  and  flew 
into  the  saddle.  As  she  went  around,  dancing  upon  that 
horse  in  full  gallop,  hopping  over  her  whip  and  jumping 
through  rings,  and,  when  seated,  smoothed  down  her  skirt 
and  waved  her  sleeveless  arms — well,  there  was  one  boy 
(his  name  was  Seaborn  Byne)  that  declared  he  "  would  be 
dinged  if  it  wasn't  enough  to  melt  the  hearts  clean  outen  a 
statchit."  Other  boys  cordially  indorsed  this  speech.  As 
for  Jack  Watts,  just  turned  of  his  tenth  year,  he  ran  away 
from  home  the  next  morning,  and  followed  for  three  miles 
the  circus,  begging  to  be  taken  into  its  employ,  stipulat 
ing  for  only  board  and  clothes.  When  caught,  brought 
back,  and  properly  attended  to  by  his  mother,  the  villain 
was  suspected,  and  almost  as  good  as  confessed,  that  his 
purpose  was  to  avail  himself  of  an  opportunity  to  seize 
upon  the  person  of  Mademoiselle  Louise  and  her  imagined 
vast  treasures,  and  bear  them  to  some  distant  foreign  shore 
— on  which  one  in  special,  in  his  exigent  haste,  he  had  not 
yet  been  able  fully  to  determine. 


CHAPTER   V. 

IN  the  interval  before  the  last,  named  "  The  Wonderful 
Tooth-drawing  Coffee-pot  Firecracker  Scene,"  an  incident 
occurred  that  was  not  on  the  programme — an  interlude,  as 
it  were,  improvised  by  the  exuberant  spirits  of  both  spec 
tators  and  showmen.  Colonel  Grice,  deeply  gratified  at 


COLONEL  MOSES   GRICE.  261 

the  success  of  what,  without  great  stretch,  might  be  called 
his  own  treat,  was  in  the  mood  to  receive  special  attention 
and  compliment  from  any  source.  When  the  pretended 
inebriate  had  been  lifted  upon  Mazeppa,  the  clown  took  a 
bottle  from  his  pocket,  tasted  it  when  he  had  gotten  behind 
his  master,  smacked  his  lips,  set  it  down  by  the  middle  pole, 
and,  being  detected  in  one  of  his  resortings  to  it,  was  re 
proached  for  not  inviting  some  one  to  drink  with  him.  They 
were  on  the  portion  of  the  ring  next  the  main  entrance. 

"Why  don't  you  invite  Colonel  Grice?  "  said  Mr.  Bill 
Williams,  in  a  low  voice.  "  He  expects  it." 

The  master  turned  to  notice  from  whom  the  suggestion 
proceeded,  and,  before  he  could  determine,  the  clown, 
though  with  some  hesitation,  said : 

"  If  Colonel  Grice—" 

"  Stop  it !  "  whispered  the  master. 

But  it  was  too  late.  The  colonel  had  already  risen,  and 
was  carefully  descending. 

"  Is  you  goin'  there,  Mose,  shore  enough  ? "  said  Miss 
Cash.  "  It  do  look  like  Mose  is  complete  carried  away 
with  them  circus  people  and  hisself." 

Having  gotten  safely  over  the  intervening  heads  and 
shoulders,  the  colonel  stepped  with  dignity  into  the  ring,  at 
the  same  time  feeling  somewhat  of  the  embarrassment 
which  will  sometimes  befall  the  very  greatest  warrior  when, 
without  his  weapons,  he  knows  himself  to  be  the  object  of 
the  attention  of  a  large  number  of  civilians,  both  male  and 
female.  This  embarrassment  hindered  his  observation  of 
the  captain's  winks,  and  the  clown's  pouring  a  portion  of 
the  liquor  upon  the  ground.  He  walked  up  rapidly  and 
extended  his  hand.  The  clown,  with  an  effort  at  mirthful- 
ness,  the  more  eager  because  he  was  doubtful  of  perfect 
success,  withdrew  the  bottle  from  his  grasp,  spread  out  his 
legs,  squatted  his  body,  and,  applying  the  thumb  of  his  dis- 


262  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

engaged  hand  to  his  nose,  wriggled  his  fingers  at  the  col 
onel's  face,  winking  frantically  the  while,  hoping  the  latter 
would  advance  the  joke  by  insistence. 

In  this  he  miscalculated.  Persons  who  claimed  to  have 
seen  Colonel  Moses  Grice,  on  previous  occasions,  what  was 
called  mad,  said  that  all  these  were  mere  childish  fretf ulness 
compared  with  his  present  condition  of  mind,  when,  after 
the  withdrawal  of  the  bottle,  the  whole  audience,  Miss  Cash 
louder  than  all,  broke  into  uproarious  laughter.  Fortu 
nately  the  enraged  chieftain  had  nor  sword,  nor  pistol,  nor 
even  walking-cane.  His  only  weapon  was  his  tongue. 
Stepping  back  a  pace  or  two,  and  glaring  upon  the  ludi 
crous  squatter,  he  shouted : 

"You  spotted-back,  striped-legged,  streaked-faced, 
speckled-b-breasted,  p'inted-hatted  son-of-a-gun!  " 

With  each  ejaculation  of  these  successive,  uncommon  ap 
pellations,  the  poor  clown  lifted  himself  somewhat,  and,  by 
the  time  their  climax  was  reached,  was  upright,  and,  dressed 
as  he  was,  seemed  most  pitiful. 

"  My  dear  Colonel  Grice — "  he  began. 

"  Shet  up  your  red  mouth,"  broke  in  the  colonel.  "  I  didn't 
•want  your  whiskey.  I  got  better  whiskey  at  home  than 
you  know  anything  about.  But  as  you  ast  me  to  drink, 
like,  as  I  thought,  one  gentleman  would  ask  another  gentle 
man,  I  didn't  feel  like  refusin'  you.  I  give  the  whole  of 
you  your  breakfast,  your  blasted  varmints  and  all ;  I  put 
at  least  twenty  into  your  cussed  show,  and  arfter  that — " 

"  My  dear-est  Colonel  Grice !  " 

"  Oh,  you  p'inted-hatted,  streaked-fac-ed,  speckled-b- 
breasted — "  beginning,  as  it  were,  a  back-handed  stroke 
by  reversing  the  order  of  his  epithets. 

At  this  moment  the  ring-master,  who  had  not  been  able 
thus  far  to  get  in  a  single  word,  said  in  a  loud  but  calm  tone : 

"  Colonel  Grice,  don't  you  see  that  it  was  a  mere  jest, 


COLONEL   MOSES   GRICE.  263 

and  that  the  suggestion  came  from  one  of  your  neighbors? 
The  bottle  contains  nothing  but  water.  We  beg  your  par 
don  if  you  are  offended ;  but  I  can  but  think  that  the  abu 
sive  words  you  have  used  already  are  quite  enough." 

"Come,  Mose!  come,  Mose!"  cried  Miss  Cash,  who 
had  just  been  able  to  stop  her  laughter.  "  Give  and  take, 
Mose.  You  put  it  on  to  Bill  Williams,  and  he  stood  it ; 
and  he  put  it  back  on  to  you,  and  now  you  can't  stand  it, 
eh?  "  And  the  old  lady  again  fairly  screamed  with  laughter, 
while  hundreds  of  others  joined. 

The  colonel  stood  for  a  moment,  hesitating.  Then  he 
suddenly  turned,  and,  remarking  that  this  was  no  place  for 
a  gentleman,  walked  toward  the  entrance. 

"  You  goin'  to  let  'em  cheat  you  out  of  the  balance  of 
your  money  that  way,  Mose?"  asked  Miss  Cash.  He 
turned  again.  Finding  himself  wholly  without  support, 
and  unwilling  to  lose  the  great  scene  of  the  "  Tooth-draw 
ing,"  etc.,  he  halted  and  stood  until  it  was  over.  By  that 
time  he  was  considerably  mollified,  and  the  manager,  ap 
proaching,  apologized  for  himself,  the  clown,  and  all  his 
troupe,  and  begged  that  he  would  join  in  a  glass  of  the 
genuine  at  Spouter's  tavern. 

How  could  the  colonel  refuse?  He  could  not,  and  he 
did  not. 

"  Go  with  us,  won't  you,  sir?  "  said  the  manager,  address 
ing  Mr.  Williams.  "  We  had  some  little  fun  at  your  expense 
also ;  but  I  hope  you  bear  us  no  malice,  as  we  never  intend 
to  hurt  feelings." 

"  Sperrits,"  answered  Mr.  Bill,  "  is  a  thing  I  sildom 
teches — that  is,  I  don't  tech  it  reglar;  but  I'll  try  a 
squirrel-load  with  you — jes'  a  moderate  size  squirrel-load." 

At  Spouter's  all  was  cordially  made  up.  Mr.  Bill  set 
Rom  and  Reme  on  the  counter,  and  the  clown  gave  them 
a  big  lump  of  white  sugar  apiece. 


264  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

"  They  seem  to  be  nice,  peaceable  little  fellows,"  said  he. 
"  Do  they  ever  dispute  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  great  deal,"  answered  Mr.  Bill.  "  Sometimes 
Rom — that's  the  bluest-eyed  one — he  wants  to  have  all  his 
feed  before  Reme  gits  any  o'  hisn,  and  he  claws  at  the 
spoon  and  Reme's  nose.  But  when  he  does  that  I  jes'  set 
him  right  down,  I  does,  and  I  makes  him  wait  ontwell 
Reme's  fed.  I  tends  to  raise  'em  to  be  peaceable,  and  to 
give  and  take,  and  to  be  friends  as  well  as  brothers,  which 
is  mighty  fur  from  bein'  always  the  case  in  families." 

Mr.  Bill  knew  that  Colonel  Grice  and  his  younger  brother 
Abram  had  not  spoken  together  for  years. 

"  Right,  Bill,"  said  the  colonel.  "  Raise  'em  right.  Take 
keer  o'  them  boys,  Bill.  Two  at  a  time  comes  right  hard 
on  a  fellow,  though,  don't  it,  Bill?  Expensive,  Ch?  "  and 
the  colonel  winked  pleasantly  all  around. 

"  Thank  ye,  kurnel ;  I'll  do  the  best  I  can.  I  shall  raise 
'em  to  give  and  take.  No,  kurnel,  not  so  very  hard.  Fact, 
I  wa'n't  a-expectin'  but  one,  yit,  when  Reme  come,  I 
thought  jest  as  much  o'  him  as  I  did  o'  Rom.  No,  kurnel, 
it  wouldn't  be  my  desires  to  be  a  married  man  and  have 
nary  ar — to  leave  what  little  prop'ty  I  got  to.  And  now, 
sence  I  got  two  instid  o'  one,  and  them  o'  the  same  size,  I 
feel  like  I'd  be  sort  o'  awk'ard  'ithout  both  of  'em.  You 
see,  they  balances  agin  one  another  in  my  pockets.  No, 
kurnel,  better  two  than  nary  one ;  and  in  that  way  you  can 
larn  'em  better  to  give  and  take.  Come,  Rom,  come, 
Reme — git  in;  we  must  be  a-travelin1."  He  backed  up 
to  the  counter,  and  the  boys,  shifting  their  sugar-lumps  to 
suit,  stepped  aboard,  and  away  they  went. 

After  that  day  Dukesborough  thought  she  could  see  no 
reason  why  she  might  not  be  named  among  the  leading 
towns  of  Middle  Georgia. 


KING  WILLIAM  AND  HIS  ARMIES. 


And  thus  it  is  to  reign." 


CHAPTER    I. 

I  THINK  it  well  to  announce,  right  in  the  beginning  of 
this  story,  that  Miles  Bunkly  is  not  properly  its  hero, 
though  some  preliminary  things  must  be  told  concerning 
him.  Although  Miles  had  loved  Miss  Caroline  Thigpen 
long  before  Mr.  Bill  Williams  courted  her,  yet  he  never  had 
told  her  so  in  set  words,  until — well,  you  may  say  it  was 
too  late.  Yet  everybody  was  surprised.  Miles  was  a  most 
excellent  young  man,  industrious,  sober,  thrifty,  fond  of 
laying  up,  and  had  a  right  good  deal  laid  up  already. 
Then  he  was  quite  passable  as  to  looks.  Mr.  Bill  could 
not  have  been  said,  even  by  Miss  Thigpen,  to  have  any 
advantage  of  Miles  as  to  looks.  As  for  the  rest,  all  except 
Miss  Thigpen  and  his  own  mother  considered  him  the  in 
ferior.  Yet  Dukesborough  manners,  or  something  else, 
put  him  in  the  lead  on  his  first  entry  upon  the  field.  It  was 
then,  and  not  till  then,  that  Miles  Bunkly  made  one,  and 
but  one,  avowed  effort,  and,  failing,  gave  up  the  contest, 
and  resigned  himself  to  what  he  called  moloncholly. 

He  had  never  been — at  least  he  had  never  seemed  to 


266  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

be — a  cheerful-minded  person  anyway.  His  Courtship  even 
had  been  a  rather  solemn  piece  of  business,  and  the  final 
declaration  sounded  somewhat  as  if  he  had  invited  Miss 
Thigpen  to  go  with  him  to  the  graveyard  instead  of  taking 
charge  of  his  domestic  affairs.  The  lady,  after  gently  de 
clining  his  suit,  and  claiming  the  privilege  of  regarding  him 
as  a  friend — nay,  a  brother — announced  her  intention  of 
ever  keeping  his  proposal  a  secret,  and  requested  him  to 
do  the  same. 

"  No,  ma'am,"  said  Miles ;  "  no,  Miss  Karline.  I  shall 
not  deny  it,  nor  I  shall  not  deny  it.  I'm  much  obleeged  to 
you,  and  I  shall  be  a  friend  to  you  and  to  yourn.  The 
waound  is  in  my  heart,  and  it'll  stay  thar,  and  it'll  be 
obleeged  to  stay  thar,  but  I'll  be  a  friend  to  you  and  yourn." 

On  his  way  home  he  called  to  his  neighbor  and  friend 
Abram  Grice,  who  was  standing  in  his  door : 

"  Mawnin',  Abom." 

"  Mawnin',  Miles.     'Light  and  come  in." 

"  Step  out  here  a  minute,  Abom,  ef  you  please." 

Mr.  Grice  came  out  to  the  gate. 

"  Kicked,  Abom." 

" Kicked,  Miles?     Who?" 

"Me." 

"  Kicked  bad,  Miles?  " 

"  Powerful." 

"  Your  horse,  Miles,  or  a  mule,  or  a  steer?  " 

"  Nary  one.     It's  here,  Abom." 

Then  he  laid  his  hand  broadly  on  his  breast. 

"In  the  stomach,  Miles?  Bad  place  to  git  kicked. 
What  in  the  thunder  kicked  you  'way  up  thar?  Git  down ; 
come  in  and  take  a  drink,  and  tell  me  about  it  afterward." 

"  It's  not  my  stomach,  Abom ;  it's  my  bres.  The 
waound's  inside — 'way  inside.  Sperrits  wouldn't  do  it  no 
good ;  they  wouldn't  retch  it." 


KING  WILLIAM   AND   HIS  ARMIES.  267 

"  My  goodness  gracious !  Miles  Bunkly,  what  in  the 
dickens  is  the  matter  with  you?  " 

"  I've  been  yonder,  Abom,"  and  he  pointed  mournfully 
toward  the  Thigpens',  "  and  my  desires  is  to  tell  no  lies. 
I  got  it  from  a  human  person  over  thar,  and  that  not  of 
the  sect  of  a  man  person." 

"Who?— Miss  Karline?  " 

"  Ef  I  was  to  name  the  name,  Abcm,  that  were  the  name 
I  should  name." 

Mr.  Grice  shouted  with  laughter. 

"  Miles  Bunkly,  you  skeered  me  out  of  a  year's  growth. 
I  thought  you  been  kicked  by  a  whole  team  o'  mules,  or 
at  least  a  yoke  o'  steers.  Well,  look  here,  you  ain't  a-goin' 
to  stand  it?" 

"  It's  done  done,  Abom." 

"  Yes,  but  I've  knowed  sich  as  that  vndone.  Why, 
Sarann  kicked  me  three  times  han'  runnin' ;  but  I  told  her 
every  time  she  done  it  that  sich  talk  as  that  didn't  phaze  me. 
That's  women,  Miles.  Them's  their  ways.  They  ain't 
a-goin'  to  let  a  fellow  know,  not  at  the  first  offstart,  that 
they  goin'  to  have  him.  I  don't  know  what  it's  for,  'ithout 
it's  jest  natchelly  to  try  to  git  the  whip-hand  of  him  at  the 
start.  It's  the  natchel  instinc'  of  the  woman  sect.  You 
go  back  to  Karline  Thigpen,  and  don't  let  on  that  you 
'member  anything  about  her  kickin'  of  you,  and  that  you 
ain't  even  phazed  by  it.  You're  sorter  slow,  old  fellow — 
that  is,  in  sich  motions — but  Karline  Thigpen  got  too  much 
sense  to  give  up  sich  a  chance." 

"  'Mother  person,  Abom,"  replied  Miles, most  mournfully — 
"  'nother  person,  of  the  male  sect." 

"Who's  he?" 

"  William  Williams." 

"Who?  Bill  Williams?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Grice,  in  aston 
ishment  and  disgust. 


268  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

"  That's  the  name  of  the  name,  Abom." 

"  Well,  Miles  Bunkly,  ef  you  can't  whip  out  Bill  Williams, 
even  with  his  Dukesborough  ways  he  got  by  livin'  in  town 
six  months,  all  I  got  to  say  is  you  ought  to  git  kicked  by  a 
yoke  o'  steers,  and  run  over  by  the  keart  in  the  bargain." 

Such  and  similar  remonstrances  were  ineffectual  to  make 
Mr.  Bunkly  continue  the  contest.  He  retired  at  once, 
leaving  the  field  to  his  rival.  At  the  wedding,  though  he 
did  not  join  in  the  dance,  nor  even  in  the  plays,  yet  he  par 
took  sufficiently,  it  was  thought,  of  meats,  cakes,  and  sylla 
bub.  Mr.  Bill  and  Miss  Karline,  her  brother  Allen  and  his 
young  bride  Betsan,  were  specially  attentive  to  his  wants. 
He  yielded  with  profound  sadness  to  their  persistent  offer 
ings  of  good  things,  and  the  more  syllabub  he  took,  the 
mournfuller  grew  his  deportment.  To  several  persons, 
mainly  elderly,  he  said  during  the  evening  that  it  was  the 
moloncholiest  of  all  days  to  him. 

"  Yit,  furthersomemore,"  he  would  add,  with  touching 
unselfishness,  "  ef  her  who  is  now  Missis  Karline  Williams, 
and  who  were  Miss  Karline  Thigpen,  be  it  her  or  be  it 
hern,  ef  her  or  them  might  ever  want  for  anything  which  it 
might  be  her  and  their  good  rights  or  their  desires,  and  ef 
then  I'm  a-livin' — providin',  you  understand,  I'm  a-livin' — 
they  shall  have  it,  ef  it's  in  my  retch." 


CHAPTER   II. 

SOME  four  years  passed.  Mr.  Bunkly,  though  plunged 
in  his  dear  melancholy,  yet  attended  punctually  to  his  busi 
ness  in  a  gloomy;  slow,  sure  way,  made  good  crops,  sold 
at  good  times,  added  to  his  land  and  plantation  stock,  and, 
claiming  to  despise  wealth,  heaped  it  up  more  and  more, 


KING   WILLIAM   AND    HIS   ARMIES.  269 

as  if  to  show,  evidently,  how  vain  are  earthly  goods  for  the 
happiness  of  a  man  in  whose  breast  is  an  incurable  wound. 

Mr.  Bill  Williams  was  getting  along,  too,  better  than  had 
been  expected  and  prophesied.  Much  of  the  exuberant 
vivacity  contracted  by  several  months'  residence  in  town 
had  subsided  in  these  four  years  of  living  with  a  wife  (a 
settled  'oman,  he  styled  her)  who  was  probably  the  most 
industrious  in  the  neighborhood.  He  well  knew  that  every 
body  believed  Miss  Thigpen  to  have  made  a  mistake  in 
preferring  himself  to  Miles  Bunkly,  and  he  had  said  at  the 
beginning  of  his  conjugal  career  that  he  should  take  it  upon 
himself  to  convince  the  world  that  it  was  mistaken.  When 
his  twin  sons,  Romerlus  and  Remerlus,  were  born  and 
named,  he  felt  that  he  was  making  reasonable  headway  on 
that  ambitious  road.  Then  he  too  had  added  somewhat  to 
his  estate,  and  his  wife  had  picked  up  many  a  dollar  by 
her  extra  work.  They  did  not  rise  as  rapidly  as  Miles, 
but  Miles  remained  but  one,  while  Mr.  Bill,  so  to  speak, 
had  been  two,  and  now  he  was  four.  People  cannot  ignore 
figures  in  such  calculations,  especially  when  they  represent 
mouths.  Never  mind,  thought  Mr.  Bill — never  mind. 
Thus  the  contemplation  of  a  former  rival,  with  whom,  how 
ever,  he  was  on  the  friendliest  of  terms,  spurred  a  nature 
that  otherwise  might  have  been  wanting  in  the  energy  be 
coming  the  head  of  a  family. 

Only  one  thing  interfered  with  the  happiness  of  that 
rising  family,  and  that  was  becoming  serious.  It  would 
sting  the  wife  painfully  sometimes  when  she  would  hear  of 
the  practical  jokes  put  upon  her  husband,  who  had  become 
rather  liable  thereto  by  what  was  considered  in  the  neigh 
borhood  his  too  great  forwardness  of  speech  and  other  de 
portment.  Too  great  a  talker,  as  from  the  very  first  she 
had  told  him  he  was,  she  would  tell  him  further  that  a  man 
who  got  into  scrapes  ought  to  get  out  of  them.  In  these 


270  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

four  years  he  had  sobered  much  under  that  benign  influence. 
Yet  when  a  man  has  once  been  the  butt  of  neighborhood 
ridicule,  it  requires  time  to  release  him  even  when  he  has 
ceased  to  deserve  it.  Sometimes  it  seems  that  the  only 
way  to  obtain  such  release  is  to  fight  for  it.  That  exi 
gency,  in  the  opinion  of  Mrs.  Williams,  had  now  arrived. 

One  night,  when  the  children  had  been  put  to  bed,  she 
said,  "  William,  you've  got  to  whip  somebody." 

She  spoke  pointedly. 

Mr.  Bill  looked  behind  him  at  the  trundle-bed,  and  asked 
himself,  "  Is  it  Rom,  or  is  it  Reme?  " 

"  Nary  one,"  was  the  audible  answer.  "  It's  somebody 
bigger'n  them,  harder  to  whip,  and  a  more  deservin'  of  it." 

Then  Mr.  Bill  peered  through  the  window  into  the  outer 
darkness,  and  speculated  if  there  were  insubordination 
among  his  little  lot  of  negroes. 

"  Nor  them  neither.  It's  white  folks ;  it's  MOSE  GRICE, 
that's  who  it  is,  and  it's  nobody  else — that  is,  to  start  with." 

Mr.  Bill  was  startled.  Colonel  Grice  had,  indeed,  been 
extremely  rough  with  Mr.  Bill  on  several  occasions,  and 
especially  since  the  day  of  the  circus  repeatedly  ridiculed 
the  father  of  the  twins.  Yet  he  was  a  man  of  means,  a 
considerable  fighter,  and  colonel  of  the  regiment.  So  Mr. 
Bill  was  obliged  to  be  startled,  and  he  looked  at  his  wife. 

"You've  been  joked  by  Mose  Grice,  William,  and  poked 
fun  at,  and  made  game  of  by  him,  until  /  don't  feel  like 
standin'  of  it  no  longer,  nor  I  don't  think  Rom  and  Reme 
would  feel  like  standin'  of  it,  not  if  they  were  big  enough 
and  had  sense  enough  to  understan'  his  impudence." 

"  Why,  Karline — "  remonstrated  Mr.  Bill. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  be  a-Karlinin'  o'  me!  "  she  said.  And 
never  before  had  Mrs.  Williams  addressed  her  husband  in 
precisely  that  language.  But  her  feelings  had  been  hurt, 
and  allowance  ought  to  be  made.  She  cried  somewhat, 


KING   WILLIAM   AND   HIS   ARMIES. 


271 


but  tears  did  not  serve  at  once  to  produce  the  softening  in 
fluence  that  is  their  legitimate  result. 

"There's  brother  Allen,"  she  continued,  "and  which 
Betsan  told  me  herself  that  Allen  told  her  that  the  fact  of 
the  business  was,  if  you  didn't  make  Mose  Grice  keep  his 
mouth  shet,  'specially  about  Rom  and  Reme,  he  would; 
and  then  there's  Miles  Bunkly — " 

"Oh,  Lordie!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bill. 

"  There's  Miles  Bunkly,  and  which  Betsan  say  is  about 
as  mad  as  brother,  and  which,  ef  he  airft  any  fighter,  yit, 
when  Mose  Grice  was  one  day  a-makin'  game  of  him  about 
his  moloncholy,  Miles  told  him  that  his  moloncholy  was 
his  business  and  not  hisn,  and  that  if  he  kept  on  meddlin' 
with  it,  he  mout  ketch  the  disease,  and  Mose  Grice  let 
Miles  Bunkly's  moloncholy  alone,  he  did." 

"  And  then,"  Mr.  Bill  said  afterward,  "  Karline  sot  up  a 
cry,  she  did,  and  it  woke  up  Rom  and  Reme,  and  they  sot 
up  a  howl  apiece,  and  I  says  to  myself,  I'll  stan'  a  whippin' 
from  Mose  Grice  rather'n  run  agin  sich  as  this." 


CHAPTER   III. 

AFTER  that  night  Mrs.  Williams  did  not  again  allude  to 
its  matter  of  conversation,  and  was  as  affectionate  to  her 
husband  as  always.  Mr.  Bill  gloried  in  the  possession  of 
her,  and  he  had  good  reason.  He  brooded  and  brooded. 
The  allusion  to  Miles  Bunkly  stung  him  deeply,  usually 
imperturbable  as  his  temper  was,  though  not  a  jot  of  jeal 
ousy  was  in  the  pang.  He  would  have  known  himself  to 
be  the  greatest  of  fools  to  feel  that.  Yet,  easy-going,  self- 
satisfied  as  he  was,  he  knew  that  other  people,  including 
his  brother-in-law,  still  regarded  his  wife  less  fortunate  than 
she  might  have  been.  The  more  Mr.  Bill  brooded,  the 
18 


273 


DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


more  serious  appeared  to  him  the  relation  of  his  case  to 
that  of  several  others,  especially  Colonel  Grice. 

Superadded  to  a  general  disposition  to  impose  upon 
whomsoever  would  endure  him,  Colonel  Grice  had  a  spite 
against  Mr.  Bill  on  account  of  the  friendship  that,  since  the 
intermarriage  with  Miss  Thigpen,  had  grown  up  between 
him  and  Abram  Grice,  the  colonel's  younger  brother,  whose 
relations  with  himself  were  not  only  not  fraternal,  but  hos 
tile.  The  colonel  was  a  fighter,  and  had  managed  some 
how  always  to  come  victorious  out  of  combat ;  for  he  was 
a  man  of  powerful  build,  and  of  great  vigor  and  activity. 
Some,  indeed,  had  often  said  that  he  knew  whom  to  en 
counter  and  whom  not.  His  position  of  head  of  the  regiment 
had  been  obtained  at  a  time  when  military  ardor,  after  a 
long  peace,  had  subsided,  and  leading  citizens  cared  not 
for  the  eclat  of  the  office.^  He  had  sought  it  eagerly,  and 
obtained  it  because  there  was  no  strong  competitor,  and 
especially  because  his  election  was  expected  and  intended 
to  ridicule  and  discourage  regimental  parades.  He  was 
greatly  exalted  by  his  election,  and  became  yet  more  over 
bearing  whenever  he  could  do  so  with  safety. 

"  That's  Mose,"  said  his  brother  Abram  one  day  to  Miles 
Bunkly — "that's  jest  him.  He'll  impose  on  anybody 
that'll  let  him,  and  he'll  try  it  with  anybody  that  he  thinks 
likes  me.  He's  been  so  from  a  boy.  He  imposed  on  me 
till  I  got  big  enough  to  whip  him,  which  I  done  a  time  or 
two,  and  then  he  quit  it.  But  he  took  his  revenge  on  me 
by  cheatin'  me  out  of  part  o'  the  prop'ty,  and  he  done  that 
the  quicker  because  he  knowed  I,  bein'  of  his  brother, 
wouldn't  prosecute  him  for  it.  That's  Mose — that's  jest 
him." 

"  I  hate  the  case,  Abom,"  answered  Miles,  "  because  I 
has  that  respects  of  Karline  Williams  that  it  mortify  me, 
and  make  me,  so  to  speak,  git  moloncholier  than  what  I 


KING  WILLIAM  AND   HIS  ARMIES. 


273 


natchelly  am,  to  see  a  man  that's  her  husband,  and  the 
father,  as  it  were,  o'  them  two  far  pinks  of  boys,  runned 
over  in  the  kind  o"  style  that  Mose  run  over  him,  nigh  and  in 
and  about  every  time  he  come  up  along  of  William  Williams. 
I  never  keered  no  great  deal  about  him,  with  them  town 
ways  o'  his'n,  untell  he  were  married  to  Miss  Karline,  and 
then  I  knowed  that  there  was  obleeged  to  be  that  in  William 
Williams  which  people  in  general  never  supposened." 

"  Ah,  Miles,  old  fellow,"  said  Abram,  "  you  ought  to  took 
that  prize,  and  you'd  a  done  it  ef  you'd  a  listened  to  me, 
and  been  peerter  in  your  motions,  and  hilt  on  longer." 

"  No,  no,  Abom,"  answered  Miles,  his  arm  giving  a 
mournful  deprecatory  wave.  "  It  were  not  my  lot.  I  tried, 
and  I  tried  honest  and  far.  I  were  not  worth  of  Miss 
Karline,  Abom.  I  didn't  know  it,  but  she  did.  And  yit  I 
could  see  it  hurt  her  to  put  the  waound  where  she  knowed 
it  were  obleeged  to  stay.  I  wasn't  a-supposenen,  though,  as 
to  that,  that  William  were  worth  of  Miss  Karline  neither. 
But  Karline  Thigpen — I  ain't  a-speakin'  o'  your  wife  now. 
Abom,  and  a-leavin'  of  her  out  o'  the  case — Karline  Thig 
pen,  but  which  she  is  now  Missis  Karline  Williams,  is  the 
smartest  woman,  and  got  the  best  jedgment,  /  ever  saw. 
And  sence  she  have  choosed  William  Williams,  I  been  cer 
tain  in  my  mind  that  there  were  that  in  William  Williams 
that  the  balance  of  us  never  supposened,  and  which'll  show 
itself  some  day  if  William  can  ever  git  farly  fotch  to  a  right 
pint." 

Thus  that  nature,  upright,  unselfish,  simple,  fond  to  per 
suade  itself  that  it  was  unhappy,  took  its  chief  solace  in 
contemplating  and  magnifying  its  own  disappointments, 
and  in  sympathizing  with  those  who  had  been  their  chief 
occasion. 


274 


DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

IT  was  muster-day  for  the  battalion.  Colonel  Grice 
always  felt  it  his  duty  to  be  at  these  occasions,  preparatory 
to  the  great  regimental  parade.  The  exercises,  after  many 
hours,  were  coming  to  an  end,  as  the  companies  marched, 
with  short  intervals  between,  down  the  one  street  of  the 
village,  preparatory  to  disbandment.  Alternately  had  the 
colonel  been  complimentary  and  censorious,  as  he  rode, 
sometimes  in  a  walk,  other  times  at  full  gallop,  up  and 
down  the  lines. 

"  Peerter,  peerter,  major,"  he  remonstrated  with  Major 
Pounds,  respectfully  indeed,  but  with  a  warmth  that  seemed 
difficult  to  repress — "  peerter ;  make  them  captains  peerten 
up  them  lines.  My  blood  and  thunder!  my  Juberter  and 
Julus  Caesar!  if  the  enemy  was  to  come  upon  us  with 
fixted  bannets —  Oh,  you've  done  your  part  admarrably, 
major.  It's  them  captains." 

It  was  just  before  the  final  halt  that  the  colonel  addressed 
Captain  'Collins,  whose  company  was  in  the  center,  and 
then  immediately  in  front  of  Eland's  store.  "  Ah,  Cap'n 
Collins,  look  to  your  rar.  It's  so  fur  behind  that  it  look 
like  two  companies  'stid  o'  one.  That  sergeant  o'  yourn 
you'll  have  to  talk  to  and  drill  in  private.  He's  arfter 
makin'  twins  out  o'  your  company.  Sergeant  Williams  is 
a  great  man  for  twins,  you  know,  cap'n.  But  you  better 
tell  him  to  make  'em  keep  his  cubs  at  home.  We  want 
solid  columes  when  we  come  to  the  field  of  battle." 

The  warrior  enjoyed  his  jest,  that  had  been  heard  by  all 
in  the  company,  and  others  besides.  But  he  did  not  allow 
himself  even  to  smile  when  at  the  head  of  the  military  forces 


KING  WILLIAM   AND   HIS  ARMIES. 


275 


of  his  country,  in  order  to  keep  himself  ever  on  the  alert 
against  sudden  attacks  of  her  enemies.  His  gloomy  brow 
indicated  indignation  at  the  thought  that  a  petty  subaltern, 
from  some  vain  notion  of  making  his  own  domestic  status 
the  model  of  the  nation's  principal  means  of  defense, 
sought  to  demoralize  it,  and  actually  invite  invasion. 

"My  Lord!"  said  Allen  Thigpen,  when  they  told  him, 
"if  Bill  don't  fight  him  for  that,  I  will!  To  think  that 
sister  Karline's  feelin's  is  to  be  hurt  by  hearin'  of  sich  as 
that!" 

"  I  don't  think,  Abom,"  said  Miles  (who  overheard  the 
remark),  "  that  it  can  be  put  off  any  longer.  Ef  there's  that 
in  William  Williams  which  I  been  a-supposen  is  obleeged 
to  be  thar,  he'll  fetch  it  out  now.  Now  you  go  right  on 
home,  Abom." 

Miles  said,  afterward,  "  My  respects  of  Abom  was  that 
as  he  wouldn't  stand  up  to  his  brother,  it  wouldn't  look 
right  to  be  agin'  him." 

When  the  battalion  was  dismissed,  Allen  walked  rapidly 
to  Mr.  Bill.  The  latter  was  wiping  the  tears  from  his  eyes 
with  his  handkerchief.  Having  finished  this  operation,  he 
went  with  a  resolute  step  toward  Eland's  piazza,  whither 
Colonel  Grice,  after  dismounting  and  giving  his  horse  to  a 
servant  to  hold,  had  repaired. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Bland,"  said  the  colonel,  about  to  light  a 
cigar,  "  you  peaceful  men,  you  who  follow  in  the  peaceable 
ways — departments,  I  might  rather  say — of  dry-goods, 
and  hardwar',  and  molasses,  and  blankets,  and  trace-chains, 
and  other  sich  departments,  so  to  call  all  o'  the  warious  wari- 
eties  of  a  sto'-keeper's  business — you  don't  know — I  may 
say  you  don't  dream — Mr.  Bland,  of  the  responsuability  of 
a  military  man  whose  country's  enemies  may  be  at  the  very 
gates —  " 

"  Colonel  Grice !  "  said  Mr.  Bill  Williams,  in  a  tone  no- 


276  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

body  had  ever  heard  from  him  before.  The  colonel  turned 
to  see  who  called.  Mr.  Bill  was  standing  on  the  ground, 
Allen  Thigpen  and  Miles  Bunkly  by  his  side. 

"  Hello,  Bill ! "  said  the  colonel,  with  careless  cordiality. 
"  What'll  you  have,  my  dear  fellow?  " 

"  I'll  have  satisfaction,  sir.  I'm  not  a  fightin'  man,  and 
I  know  I  have  sometimes  been  keerless  in  my  talk,  yit  I 
never  went  to  hurt  people's  feelings  a-purpose,  and  I  always 
helt  myself  more  of  a  gentleman  than  to  insult  women  and 
little  childern,  and  which  you  can't  say  for  yourself  without 
tellin'  a  lie,  and  a  fightin'  lie  at  that." 

Those  words  operated  the  greatest  surprise  that  ever  be 
fell  Colonel  Moses  Grice.  Partly  in  astonishment,  partly 
in  wrath,  and  partly  in  deprecation,  he  exclaimed  : 

"What  in  this  wide  omnipotent  world!  Is  the  Colonel 
of  the  Fourteenth  Regiment  got  to  study  his  langwidges — " 

"  Come,  Mose,"  said  Miles,  slowly  but  distinctly,  "  the 
muster's  over  now,  and  William  Williams  is  your  ekal,  and 
he  is  liable  to  have  his  satisfaction,  onlest  you  apologizes 
for  your  langwidges." 

"  I  don't  want  his  apologies,"  said  Mr.  Bill.  "  I  won't 
have  his  apologies.  He's  got  to  fight,  'ithout  he  gits  on  his 
horse  and  runs  away." 

"  I  can't  stand  that,"  said  the  colonel.  Throwing  off  his 
coat,  he  came  rapidly  down  the  steps  to  where  Mr.  Bill, 
similarly  stripped,  awaited  him. 


CHAPTER   V. 

WHOEVER  has  not  seen  a  combat  between  two  powerful, 
irate  men,  with  no  weapons  other  than  those  supplied  by 
nature,  has  missed  the  sight,  though  he  may  not  regret  it, 


KING   WILLIAM   AND    HIS   ARMIES. 


277 


of  a  thrilling  scene.  The  blows,  the  grapplings,  the  strug 
gles  of  every  kind  are  as  if  each  combatant  had  staked 
every  dear  thing  upon  the  result,  and  set  in  to  save  it  or 
die.  The  advantages  on  this  occasion,  except  the  right, 
were  with  the  colonel.  Taller  by  an  inch,  though  perhaps 
not  heavier,  agile,  practiced,  and  in  the  full  maturity  of 
his  physical  powers,  he  had,  besides,  a  contempt  for  his 
adversary,  and  expected  to  prevail  speedily.  Mr.  Bill  him 
self  rather  counted  upon  this  result ;  but  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  that  such  was  preferable  to  what  he  would  endure 
without  an  attempt  to  punish  this  persistent  insulting  rail 
lery.  He  had  never  been  a  participant  in  a  fight  of  any 
sort ;  but  he  had  labored  habitually  at  the  heaviest  work 
upon  his  farm,  and  he  had  broken,  unassisted,  many  a  colt, 
horse,  and  mule  of  his  famous  Molly  Sparks — the  most 
willful  and  indocile  of  dams.  He  had  now  the  special  dis 
advantage  of  having  been  upon  his  feet  during  several 
hours  of  tiresome  exercises. 

"  He'll  try  to  ride  you,  Bill,"  said  Allen  hastily,  "  but 
you  keep  him  off.  He  can  fling  you,  I  expect ;  but  you 
can  outlast  him  in  licks.  Don't  let  him  ride  you." 

As  the  colonel  advanced,  Mr.  Bill — 

But  alas!  I  am  not  an  epic  bard,  nor  even  a  Pindaric, 
nor  is  there  one  whom  I  can  command  to  duly  celebrate 
this  combat.  Mr.  Bowden,  the  village  postmaster,  was  a 
person  somewhat  addicted  to  poetry  (reading  it,  I  mean), 
and  he  was  heard  to  say  several  times  afterward  that  it 
reminded  him,  he  thought,  more  than  any  fight  he  had  ever 
witnessed,  of  the  famous  one  between  Diomede  and  Mars 
on  the  plain  of  Troy.  But  the  schoolmaster,  who  was  a 
Homeric  scholar,  rather  intimated  to  some  of  the  advanced 
pupils  that  Mr.  Bowden  did  not  seem  quite  clear  in  his 
mind  which  was  Mars  and  which  Diomede.  For  a  first 
fight,  and  that  with  an  experienced  antagonist,  Mr.  Bill 


278  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

conducted  himself  with  surprising  dexterity  in  the  giving 
and  evasion  of  blows,  and,  when  evasion  was  not  success 
ful,  with  becoming  fortitude.  It  was,  however,  a  tiresome 
business.  He  showed  that,  and  once,  after  putting  in  one 
of  his  best,  when  he  was  attempting  to  withdraw  himself 
from  the  return,  he  had  the  misfortune  to  tread  upon  a 
corn-cob  that  happened  to  be  lying  in  his  rear.  This  turn 
ing  beneath  him,  he  lost  his  balance,  and  the  colonel 
rushing  upon  him,  he  fell  to  the  ground  upon  his  left  side. 

"There,  now!"  said  Miles  Bunkly.  "  Hadn't  been  for 
that  cornfound  corn-cob — " 

Unable  to  finish  what  he  would  have  said,  he  raised  his 
hands  on  high,  and  clasped  them  in  intense  grief.  Whis 
pering  to  Allen  a  few  words,  he  took  out  his  handkerchief 
and  covered  his  eyes  for  several  moments. 

"  Bill,"  said  Allen,  "  Miles  says,  hold  on  as  long  as  you 
can.  If  you  git  too  badly  used  up,  he'll  help  you  take 
care  o'  Rom  and  Reme." 

Then  Mr.  Bill  Williams  was  worth  seeing,  though  pros 
trate  on  the  field.  These  words  fell  upon  his  ear  with  a 
force  irresistible.  But  for  Mr.  Bowden's  incertitude  as  to 
the  impersonation  of  those  combatants  of  the  heroic  age, 
he  might  have  compared  these  words  of  Miles  to  those  of 
the  goddess,  when 

"  Raged  Tydides,  boundless  in  his  ire: 
'  Pallas  commands,  and  Pallas  lends  thee  force.' " 

As  it  was,  Mr.  Bill  pronounced  the  names  "  Rom "  and 
"  Reme  "  once,  then  he  gave  a  groan  that  sounded  less  a 
groan  than  a  roar.  And  then,  in  spite  of  the  superincum 
bent  weight,  he  suddenly  reached  his  arm  around  the 
colonel's  neck,  and  drew  his  head  to  the  ground. 

It  was  said  of  Miles  Bunkly  by  people  of  veracity,  and 
those  who  had  known  him  longest  and  most  intimately,  that 


KING   WILLIAM   AND    HIS   ARMIES. 


279 


this  was  the  only  occasion  during  life  whereon  he  was 
known  to  shout.  Then,  with  the  mildness  yet  the  solem 
nity  of  an  experienced  good  man  whose  admonitions  thereto 
have  gone  unheeded,  he  remarked  to  the  colonel,  as  the 
latter's  body  was  slowly  but  inevitably  following  his  head 
beneath  Mr.  Bill,  like  the  stag  in  the  anaconda's  mouth, 
"  You  see  how  it  is,  Mose ;  I  told  you,  if  you  didn't  mind, 
you'd  ketch  the  moloncholy  yourself  some  day." 

The  colonel,  apparently  concluding  that  the  time  had 
come,  said,  as  distinctly  as  he  could,  "  Stop  it,  Bill ;  I  give 
it  up." 

"Let  him  up,  Bill,"  said  Allen  ;   "  you  got  his  word." 

"  No,  sir,  not  till  he's  'poligized.  He's  jest  acknowledged 
hisself  whipped ;  he  hain't  'poligized." 

"  I'm  sorry,  Bill,  for  havin'  hurted  your  feelin's  and  your 
wife's,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  So  fur  so  good,"  answered  Mr.  Bill,  leisurely  stretching 
himself  at  ease  on  his  foe,  as  if  he  would  repose  after  his 
fatigue — "  so  fur  so  good ;  but  what  about  Romerlus  Will 
iams  and  Remerlus  Williams?  "  He  never  called  the  full 
names  of  his  boys  except  on  impressive  occasions. 

"  Come,  Bill,"  said  Allen,  taking  him  by  the  arm, 
"enough's  enough." 

Mr.  Bill  rose  with  the  reluctant  air  of  a  man  roused  from 
a  luxurious  couch  whereon  he  had  been  indulging,  though 
not  to  the  full,  in  sweet  sleep  and  sweeter  dreams.  The 
colonel  arose,  and,  unpitied  of  all,  slunk  limping  away. 
Miles  Bunkly,  the  tears  in  his  eyes,  laid  his  hands  on  Mr. 
Bill's  shoulders,  and  said  : 

"  I  knowed  it  were  obleeged  to  be  in  you,  WTilliam,  ef  it 
could  be  fetch  out ;  and  my  respects  of  a  certain  person 
was  that,  that  I  knowed  she'd  fetch  it  out  in  time.  It's 
done  fotch  out,  and  from  this  time  forrards  you  and  yourn 
may  go  'long  your  gayly  way  down  the  hill  o'  life,  and  all 


28o  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

I  got  to  say  to  you  and  them,  William,  is,  Go  IT!  And 
now  go  wash  your  face  and  hands,  and  go  'long  home  to 
happiness  and  bliss.  I  don't  say  you  never  deserved  'em 
before,  but  I  do  say  you  deserve  'em  now." 


CHAPTER    VI. 

"  MY  ! "  said  Mr.  Bill,  when  he  had  washed,  and  was 
feeling  the  knots  and  bruises  on  his  face,  and  trying  to 
open  his  eyes — "  my!  but  ain't  it  tiresome?  I  ruther  maul 
rails  all  day  'ithout  my  dinner,  or  break  two  o"  old  Molly's 
colts,  mules  at  that,  than  to  have  to  go  through  sich  as 
that  agin.  Thanky,  Miles,  and  come  and  see  a  fellow." 
He  bade  all  adieu,  and  went  on  home,  where  something  in 
the  bosom  of  his  family  awaited  him  that  is  worth  relating. 
The  news  having  preceded  him,  his  wife,  a  pious  woman,  was 
a  little  troubled  in  her  mind  at  first  for  having  given  to  her 
husband  the  spur  to  a  feeling  that  was  not  entirely  consistent 
with  duty ;  yet  when  they  had  told  her  the  whole  story,  she 
rose,  laid  aside  her  work,  went  to  her  chest,  got  out  her 
very  best  frock,  and  every  thread  of  her  children's  Sunday 
clothes,  including  many  a  ribbon  that  had  survived  its 
ancient  use,  and  arrayed  herself  and  them  to  greet  the  hero 
upon  his  return.  The  whicker  of  old  Molly  at  the  foot  of 
the  lane,  and  the  answer  of  the  colt  in  the  lot,  announced 
the  joyous  moment.  Dismounting  at  his  gate,  Mr.  Bill 
would  fain  have  indulged  his  eyes  with  that  goodly  sight ; 
but  one  of  them  was  entirely  and  the  other  partially  closed. 
He  became  aware  of  the  rushing  into  his  arms  of  a  person 
of  about  the  size  of  his  wife,  and  justly  guessed  to  be  her, 
and  the  cries  of  two  children  which  he  rather  thought  were 
familiar  to  his  ears.  For  the  boys,  when  they  saw  their 


KING  WILLIAM   AND   HIS   ARMIES.  281 

father  all  battered  and  bruised,  set  up  a  yelling,  and  re 
treated. 

"You  Rom!  youReme!"  cried  the  indignant  mother, 
laughing  the  while,  "if  you  don't  stop  that  crying  and 
making  out  like  you  don't  know  your  father,  I'll  skin  you 
both  alive!  Come  back  here,  and  if  you  as  much  as 
whimper,  I'll  pull  off  them  ribbons,  strip  you  to  your  shirts, 
and  put  you  to  bed  without  a  mouthful  for  your  supper! " 

They  came  back,  did  those  boys. 

"  Look  at  him,  sirs.  Don't  tell  me  you  don't  know  him. 
Who  is  it?  " 

"Pappy,"  said  Rom,  on  a  venture,  followed  by  Reme. 

"And  ain't  he  the  grandest  man  that's  a-livin'?  " 

"  Eth'm,"  said  Rom. 

"  Eth'm,"  said  Reme. 

"  Now  git  behind  thar,  and  let's  all  march  in." 

"  And  we  did  march  in,"  said  Mr.  Bill,  afterward — "  me, 
and  Karline,  and  Rom,  and  Reme  ;  and  as  we  was  a-march- 
in'  along,  I  felt — blamed  if  I  didn't — like  King  William  at 
the  heads  of  his  armies." 


CHAPTER   VII. 

MILES  BUNKLY  had  become  too  fond  of  his  "molon- 
choly  "  to  let  it  depart  entirely ;  but  its  severest  pains  sub 
sided  in  spite  of  him,  now  that  the  rival  who  had  been 
preferred  to  him  had  justified  the  preference. 

"  My  respects  of  William  Williams,"  he  would  often  say, 
"  is  that,  that  it  riconcile  me  and  do  my  moloncholy  good 
that  he's  the  husband  and  the  protector,  as  it  were,  of — 
well,  ef  I  should  name  the  name,  it  would  be  Karline  Thig- 
pen  that  were." 


282  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

For  some  weeks  immediately  following  the  day  of  the 
fight  he  had  been  observed,  from  time  to  time,  in  the  inter 
vals  of  other  business,  engaged  with  a  work  seeming  to 
require  much  painstaking,  the  result  of  which  will  imme 
diately  appear.  One  morning  Mr.  Bill,  standing  in  his 
door,  called  to  his  wife : 

"  Come  here,  Karline,  quick !  Who  and  what  can  them 
be  yonder  a-comin'  up  to  the  gate?  Somebody,  'pear  like, 
a-leadin'  of  a  par  o'  dogs  hitched  to  a  little  waggin." 

Mrs.  Williams,  looking  intently  at  the  comers,  cried : 

"  It's  brother,  leading  of  a  par  o'  calves  yoked  to  a  little 
cart." 

She  was  right. 

"  Good  gracious,  brother — " 

But  Allen  paid  not  the  slightest  attention  to  his  sister, 
not  even  saying  good-morning. 

"  Here,  Rom ;  here,  Reme "  (his  business  being  with 
them),  "  here's  a  present  for  you  from  Miles  Bunkly ;  and 
he  in  particklar  charge  me  to  tell  you,  and  which  ef  you 
weren't  old  enough  yit  to  have  sense  enough,  'twouldn't 
be  long  before  you  would  be  to  understan'  sich  langwidges, 
that  his  respects  of  your  father  was  that,  that  he  sent  you 
the  follerin'  keart  and  steers,  which  he  made  the  keart  with 
his  own  hands,  the  paintin'  and  all,  and  likewise  broke 
the  steers,  and  which  they're  jest  six  months  old  to-day, 
which  you  moutn't  believe  it,  but  they  are  twin  calves, 
them  steers  is,  of  his  old  cow  Speckle-face,  and  which  he 
say  is  the  best  and  walliblest  cow  he  ever  possessioned,  and 
which  them  was  the  very  words  he  said." 

Then,  turning  to  his  sister  and  brother-in-law,  he  said, 
"  Mawnin',  sister  Karline  ;  mawnin',  Bill." 

Mr.  Bill  roared  with  laughter;  Mrs.  Bill  shed  tears  in 
silence,  both  in  their  abounding  gratitude. 

"And  twins  at  that!"  said  Mr.  Bill,  "jes'  like  Rom  and 


KING   WILLIAM   AND   HIS   ARMIES. 


203 


Reme ! "  An  idea  struck  him  as  with  the  suddenness  of 
inspiration. 

"  Allen,"  he  asked  vaguely,  "  does  you  know  the  names 
o'  them  steers?" 

"  No,  Bill ;   Miles  didn't—" 

"Makes  no  odds  ef  he  did.  /names  them  steers;  and 
you  see  they're  adzactly  alike,  exceptin'  that  that  one  in 
the  lead  got  the  roundest — a  leetle  the  roundest — blaze  in 
the  forrard."  Going  slowly  to  the  latter,  and  laying  his 
hand  upon  his  head,  he  said,  "  This  here  steer  here  is  name 
Mierlus."  Then  walking  slowly  down  around  the  cart  and 
up  to  the  other,  he  laid  his  hand  upon  his  head,  saying, 
"  This  here  steer  here  is  name  Bunkerlus."  He  took  his 
boys,  lifted  them  into  the  cart,  contemplated  all  with  a  sat 
isfaction  that  had  no  bottom  to  it,  then  waved  his  hand  in 
preparation  for  a  harangue  that  few  other  things  could  have 
prevented  than  that  which  presently  transpired.  Miles 
Bunkly  himself  appeared  at  the  gate,  and  walked  in,  his 
face  wreathed  in  melancholy  smiles. 

"  Why,  Miles,  you  blessed  everlastin'  old  fellow ! "  ex 
claimed  Mr.  Bill. 

They  were  people  too  honest  and  plain  to  feel  any  em 
barrassment.  The  generous  donor  at  once  took  the  lines 
into  his  hands,  and  led  the  procession  several  times  about 
the  yard  and  the  lot,  as  innocent,  and  in  many  respects  as 
much  a  child,  as  those  on  whom  he  had  bestowed  his  gift.- 
The  ardor  of  Mr.  Bill  could  not  be  subdued  as  he  looked 
upon  the  scene.  Tears  like  those  in  his  wife's  eyes  came 
into  his  own,  and  he  said,  softly,  to  her  and  to  Allen : 

"  I  never  spected  to  live  to  see  sich  a  skene  and  sich  a 
ewent.  Thar  they  goes,  Romerlus  Williams,  and  Remerlus 
Williams,  and  Mierlus — ahem! — Williams,  and  Bunkerlus 
Williams,  and  Miles  Bunkly  hisself,  and  the  keart  and  all ; 
and  I'll  channelge,  I  don't  say  this  county,  but  I'll  chan- 


284  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

nelge  this  whole  State  o'  Georgy,  to  pejuce  a  skene  and 
pejuce  a  ewent  as  lovely  as  the  present  skene  and  the  pres 
ent  ewent  on  this  lovely  mawnin'  like.  It  do  look  like, 
Allen — it  do  look  like  the  families  is  united  and  jinded  to 
gether."  Mr.  Bill's  throat  choked  up  with  just  enough 
space  left  to  allow  of  breathing,  but  of  not  another  word. 

"  Allen,"  said  Miles,  when,  the  visit  being  over,  they 
were  on  their  way  home,  "  to  think  of  William  a-couplin' 
of  my  name  along  with  them  lovely  boys!  Well,  I  never 
expects  to  git  intirely  over  my  moloncholy,  but  I  tell  you, 
Allen,  I  were  never  as  nigh  of  bein'  of  riconciled  to  it." 


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